Rafe was exhausted and hurting by the time Gus finally called a stop. They had reached a small meadow nestled against the side of a sharp embankment, the ponderosa pines and spruce filtering the late afternoon sun. Rafe estimated they had travelled nearly forty miles since leaving Deadwood that morning. As Rafe eased his careful way off his horse, muscles in his lower back and thighs protested, but he bit back a groan and shot a glance at his father to see if the man had noticed his discomfort. He had not spent so much time in the saddle since first learning to ride and his sore body was letting him know that in a big way.
Gus was working at the cinches of his saddle, his slim cheroot clamped between his teeth and his dark eyes focused on his task. Rafe started to do the same, but Gus interrupted him.
"Why not let me take care of that, son?" he said, glancing over at Rafe. "There's still some daylight left and I've a hankering for a taste of rabbit. Think you can secure us a fat one?"
"I'm willing to give it a try, sir," he answered through his teeth after a long moment, feeling a flash of anger. All he wanted to do right now was collapse on the ground in agony. The last thing he needed was to go tramping through the hills hunting for a stupid rabbit.
Rafe tried not to limp over to Gus's horse and he slipped the coach gun from its sheath. He carefully checked the load as Gus had taught him and then untied the small pouch holding the extra shells.
"Don't go far," Gus said, as he lifted his saddle off of his horse. "Watch for bears and bring back some extra wood on your way back. I'll get the fire started, but the extra warmth will be right welcome tonight."
"Yes, sir," Rafe said and headed off along the creek.
Before moving to Deadwood Territory and meeting his father, Rafe had never hunted or ridden a horse. He had been deeply embarrassed to learn that even his mother knew how to ride and had participated in the fancy fox hunts of her privileged youth. Rafe, on the other hand, was city bred; his skills came with growing up on the rough streets of Chicago. He could hustle at dice, pilfer and, of course, fight with his fists and a sharp knife, but that was it. However, in the past year, Gus had slowly been teaching him the skills Natalia could not – how to shoot, how to ride, how to hunt game and how to survive out of doors with nothing but miles of wilderness around him.
He and Gus had spent time in the hills surrounding Deadwood, but this was the first time his father had taken him on a long journey. Rafe hated leaving his mother alone, but he had been eager to take the trip. Gus was a patient and subtle teacher, Rafe had realized and as he walked following the creek upstream, each step eased the cramped muscles in his body. Rafe's anger dissipated as he finally understood that his father's suggestion he hunt for their supper was just another lesson in horsemanship.
As his body relaxed, he finally began looking for an area where a cottontail could be hiding. He spotted a pile of brushwood and began to slowly pace toward it, the shotgun held at the ready, his finger gently resting on the trigger guard. He paused for half a minute and then walked again. On his third pause, there was a flurry of movement as a gray blur broke from the cover and dashed away. Aiming carefully just beyond the head, Rafe pulled the trigger and to his delight saw the animal fall and tumble forward from its own momentum. He lowered the gun and ran toward it and was happy to see that his shot had killed the rabbit neatly. He picked it up by the ears and carried it to the creek to clean and skin. He was proud that it was a nice sized one that would satisfy both of them this evening.
By the time he returned, Gus had their camp set up neatly and a fire burning within a circle of creek stones. Gus had apparently gathered some wild onions, groundnuts and sage while Rafe was gone and had them already cleaned and waiting near the fire. Rafe smiled inwardly at his father's show of confidence that he would bag a rabbit. He replaced the gun and pouch and then grabbed a saddle bag to fetch their cooking supplies. Gus took Rafe's game bag and began cutting up the rabbit.
"This is a nice one, son," he said. "I thought I only heard one shot ring out. Get him on one?"
"Yes, sir," he said. "Luck was with me."
"Not luck, Rafe," Gus said, shaking his head. "I said your skills would improve with time and practice and I was right."
Rafe flushed under the praise as he placed the Dutch oven on the coals at the edge of the campfire and added a scoop of lard to melt. They both worked in silence as they prepared stew. By the time it was simmering, it was nearly full dark. Gus got out a bottle of whiskey and gave Rafe a small bit in his cup.
"Thanks," Rafe said.
"Just don't tell your mother," Gus said dryly and lit another cheroot from a small branch he held in the fire.
"Believe me, I won't," Rafe said as he added water to his cup and took a sip. He wondered how adults could bear to drink it straight. His eyes watered and he manfully suppressed a cough. "She'd pitch a fit."
"At both of us," Gus agreed.
The two of them sat companionably by the fire as they sipped the whiskey and waited for the stew to thicken. Finally, Rafe asked, "Do you miss Illinois?"
Gus appeared to chew the question around in his head. "Not really," he finally answered. "Most of the folks from Springfield came to Deadwood during the rush so there's no one left back there to miss. The rest, well…it's just a place, like any other."
Rafe nodded and thought about his father's words. Chicago was so completely different than Deadwood, but it could be just as exciting and as dangerous. "What's Yankton like?" Rafe asked. "Mama and I picked up the coach there, but didn't get to see much of it."
"It's like most any other town, I suppose," Gus answered. "Being the territory capital, it has more than its share of politicians."
"Don't care much for the politicos, do you?" Rafe said, hearing the tone in his father's voice.
"No," Gus answered, his tone acerbic. "Useless waste of food and air, they are."
"And yet, that's why we're going to Yankton, isn't it?" Rafe asked.
"One of many reasons for taking a trip this far," Gus said. "I do have to meet with my superiors at the agency offices, but I also need to contact a slimy commissioner for Olivia."
Rafe thought about the woman who owned the hotel where his mother worked. He had seen her around town, but had never officially met her, although they were related through the Spauldings. "What do you hope to accomplish?" he asked.
"For one thing, for him to come to Deadwood to speak with Olivia directly," Gus answered. "I can't be involved in any exchange of bribes."
"Because you're a U.S. Marshal?"
"That and because I refuse to be a part of any such dealings," Gus said and Rafe felt his father's eyes on him. "In Illinois, the Spauldings gained their wealth and power through illegal and underhanded dealings. Here in the territory, the corruption is so much worse, which is why Alan moved his base of operations."
"You're not like him," Rafe said with certainty in his voice. He knew that his mother could never love anyone who was evil and corrupt.
"I try not to," Gus affirmed. "As a Spaulding, you'll have to decide for yourself on that issue, son." Gus paused and then added, "I know about the confidence games you've been playing, son."
Rafe felt his whole body flush in shame. "Does Mama?"
Gus shook his head. "No," he answered. "At least, I don't think she does, but Rafe…there's no reason for you to put yourself at risk like that. Sure, you're only an apprentice, but your needs are taken care of and you know if you want anything extra, you can come to me. I'm your father and I can help."
"Mama doesn't take your help," Rafe pointed out.
"Your mother can be a stubborn woman," Gus said and Rafe could hear the frustration in his voice. "However, soon we will be married and I'll finally be able to provide for you both, as I should have been since you were born."
Rafe once again felt a stab of anger at the memory of the years his mother had spent working her fingers to the bone struggling to raise him without any support from her family. "Did you know my grandfather?"
"Florencio Rivera?" Gus asked and at Rafe's nod, he added, "Only by reputation. My family did not move in the same circles as your mother's. We were working class and Natalia's family was Old World aristocracy."
"She doesn't talk much about her family," Rafe said as he added another branch to the fire. "I knew nothing about them growing up and didn't even know they existed until Mama told me we were coming to Deadwood to find you."
Gus was silent as his dark eyes watched the flickering flames. "There is nothing I wish for more, son, than had I been there for your mother when you were born," he finally said. "But the sad fact is that I wasn't. And we can never get that back, the three of us. We can only go forward from now on."
"What about Harley and her children?" Rafe asked.
"I love Harley, son," Gus said. "I always will, but the time for her and I is over. Now is the time for our family."
"A time for every purpose under Heaven," Rafe quoted. "Mama says that often."
"Stubborn, but wise," Gus chuckled. "She's always been like that."
"What was she like, sir?" Rafe asked, curious about his mother's life before his existence affected her so much.
"She was so beautiful," Gus said with a wistful smile on his face. "I first saw going into the botanical gardens in Chicago. She was there on a school trip. I tried to speak with her, but the whole group of girls she was with was surrounded by nuns and I couldn't get close, so I followed them back to the convent school and eventually I managed to catch her by herself in the exercise yard."
Rafe laughed. "What a stalker you were."
"I was," Gus joined in the laughter. "I scared her at first, but when I kept hanging around the school, eventually she fell in love with me. It was the most amazing thing that had happened to me."
"But you left her," Rafe said, the old familiar bitterness replacing the laughter. "Pregnant and alone. Why couldn't you have done the right thing by her and married her? Given her your protection?"
"I didn't know she was with child, son," Gus said, shaking his head. "My father had been murdered and I took off after his killer. I planned on returning to Chicago for her, but events kept me away. There was always one more job to do, one more criminal to take down. Before I knew it, years had passed and I reckoned she had gotten on with her life and after a while, I figured she would have moved on and it was time for me to do the same. I never thought to see her again."
Both men once again fell silent for a bit, as Rafe retreated once again into his thoughts about the injustices of life. Both of his grandfathers were rich and powerful men. Both came from Illinois and both made their fortunes through cattle, one raising them and the other slaughtering them. Yet his parents had both grown up untouched by their sires' influence.
Rafe thought about how he too, had grown up without his father and what kind of effect it would have on the rest of his life. Would he grow up to be like Gus Aitoro, a seemingly good and honest man or would he be more like his grandfathers, evil and corrupt, using exploiting the endless loopholes inherent in the system for their own personal gain? And just how sincere was Gus with his declarations of wanting to do the right thing? Was his engagement to his mother an honest attempt to do the right thing by the woman who had born his child out of wedlock, or was she simply consolation for the ruin of his marriage to Harley?
He knew that answers to these questions would not be immediately forthcoming. Even in his short years, he understood that things were not always what they appeared to be. There were always layers within layers to people and sometimes it frustrated him when he was not able to perceive what lay beneath. Sometimes, he just wished people could be the same on the outside as they were on the inside. It would simplify things so much.
Gus got up to check on the stew and pronounced it done. Rafe eagerly ladled a healthy portion into his bowl and started to eat the second he sat back down again. "Man, this is so good," he said between bites and Gus grunted his agreement. The rabbit meat had cooked down to tender morsels and the savory wild vegetables added a loamy, piquant flavor to the thick broth. For just a moment, Rafe wished he had one of his mother's fluffy biscuits to mop up the juices, but decided that just slurping from the bowl would do just fine. His father did the same, apparently not following his mother's fine manners one whit, so Rafe felt no guilt in emulating the other man.
The two of them continued to eat in silence until they were full. Rafe moved the stew to the side and set the fire to keep them warm for the night, while Gus lit a final cheroot and allowed Rafe another draught of whiskey. They then chatted about inconsequential things until both felt the call of sleep. Rafe lay down that night under the stars sated from the rabbit he had hunted and buzzed from the liquor and his dreams were filled of Wild West adventures.
In the morning, Gus put on coffee and the leftover stew to heat for their breakfast while Rafe checked and saddled the horses. He enjoyed working with the proud animals. Their needs were simple and he sensed they were appreciative of his efforts to fulfill them, not like more complex and confusing humans.
After the two men rode away from their campsite, Rafe took a moment to enjoy the peace of the morning. Chicago was a dirty and smelly city; the overcrowded tenements he and his mother had lived in were a small step above stinking sewers. In contrast, the Black Hills were clean and pure, the cold autumn air fresh and so sharp it made his nostrils tingle. It was at moments like this, that Rafe was glad they had come west. When he glanced at his father riding along beside him, he felt a rare stab of love for the man.
Later that afternoon, they saw a cloud of dust in the distance ahead of them. "Freight wagons," Gus identified and in a short while they met up with the train. It was comprised of six wagons being pulled by teams of four oxen each. Rafe recognized the man sitting on the leading wagon as one of Charlie Utter's drivers.
"Marshal," the man greeted Gus and gave a nod to Rafe.
"Mr. Lindstrom," Gus said. "Coming from Yankton?"
"Ayah," Lindstrom answered in heavy accent. "No trouble, happy t'say. You headin' dat way?"
"We are," Gus said. "No trouble from here to Deadwood. You might have a bit of a haul going down into the gulch from recent rains, but other than that, you'll be fine."
"Good t'know," the man hopped up and jumped down from the high seat. "Got somethin' fer you, Marshal." He went to the back of the wagon and dug around for a bit, then finally pulled a package.
Rafe and Gus both dismounted from their horses and Rafe was happy to note that his muscles were not as sore as they had been yesterday. He stretched to loosen them while Gus opened the package. When walked over to Gus, he saw his father was holding a stack of papers with an odd look on his face.
"What is it?" he asked.
Gus sighed. "Divorce decree," he answered. "From Harley. It's official."
"Oh," Rafe said, not sure how to react to the news. "I mean, that's…that's good, right? You and Mama can get married now."
"Yeah," Gus said with a nod. "That's good." He replaced the papers into the package and handed it back to Lindstrom. "No sense dragging these back to Yankton. Will you be so kind as to deliver the package to my fiancée Miss Natalia Rivera? You can find her at Buzz Cooper's place or at the Beacon Hotel."
"Will do, Marshal," Lindstrom replied, and returned the package to the wagon. "You'n yer son have a good journey."
"Thank you," Gus said.
Rafe noted that Gus's silence lasted well into the day and he wondered what his father was thinking about. He hoped it was of his mother and not of Gus's now ex-wife.
After staying up late the night before cooking and cleaning up from the evening board, Natalia made sure she awoke even earlier than usual to prepare breakfast. She started her bread while her coffee brewed, then sat down with a cup to start peeling potatoes to fry. After the first batch of home fries was in the pan, she started on her pancakes, which she normally reserved for Sunday morning service. Buzz came in carrying the eggs he had purchased on his way to the restaurant. His eyebrows rose when he saw her working at the griddle.
"What's the occasion?" he asked as he set the eggs down on the work table and began cracking them into a clean bowl.
Natalia pushed a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. "Olivia Spencer offered me a new job at the hotel," Natalia began, not wanting to put this off any longer. "More authority, more responsibility and more money."
"Well, that's terrific, darling," he said with a wide grin on his face.
"I haven't accepted it yet," she admitted. "In fact, I have less than an hour to decide. She told me not to bother showing up if I don't take the job."
Buzz chuckled. "Yeah, that's our Olivia, all right. All or nothing."
"I'm not sure what to do, Buzz," she said.
"Take it, of course," he said. "You'd be a fool not to."
"I know you trust her," Natalia said, warily, remembering the stories she'd heard that Olivia had been romantically involved with Buzz and had nearly married him. "But what if she's setting me up to fail? I'll be worse off than before."
"And, if you don't mind my saying so, you're very wise not to trust her with too much," he said, "but I've known Olivia Spencer a long time. All the way back to our Springfield days and I know she doesn't do things like that. if she's offering you an important position in her hotel – her main source of income, I might add, then believe me when I say that she must know you can do the job."
"Still, it's just crazy…maid to manager in one day? Yesterday, I was cleaning chamber pots and today I'm supposed to run a hotel?"
"Again, Olivia wouldn't risk her operation on someone incapable and I know you, Natalia – you're a remarkable woman. You can do it."
"Why are you encouraging me?" she asked. "I'll have to leave Company if I take the position."
He shrugged. "We'll manage," he said. "Marina has learned a lot from you and her cooking has improved. Mind, she'll never be as good as you, but at least this time she won't chase away the customers. At least, not with her cooking."
Natalia snorted at Buzz's wry comment about his granddaughter. She had always maintained a cool relationship with the volatile woman. Then she grew serious as she thought about Olivia Spencer. "You don't think she's out to get me? Yesterday, I almost got hurt because of her."
Buzz shrugged. "I don't know what all happened, except that you had to defend yourself against two cocksuckers, but if Olivia precipitated that event, then perhaps this is her way of making it up to you?"
"An apology?" Natalia scoffed. "Somehow I don't think she's the type to apologize."
"No, she's not," Buzz admitted. "But sometimes she does the right thing without even being fully aware as to exactly why she's doing it."
Natalia was silent as she contemplated Buzz's words while the two of them completed the breakfast preparations. Hearing a noise, she looked up to see Mose Manual entering the kitchen, his omnipresent shotgun over his shoulder.
"Good morning, Mose," she said. "You're early."
"I'm on my way from the saloon, Miss Rivera," he explained. "I thought I'd save a trip and came directly here, if that's all right with Mr. Cooper." He turned to Buzz and added, "Miss Spencer directed me to make sure Miss Rivera arrives at the hotel unmolested in case those two blackguards she was forced to shoot yesterday are still about."
Buzz nodded. "Good man," he said and then turned to Natalia with a questioning look in his eyes.
She grabbed a plate and piled it high with food and pushed it at Mose. "Get yourself some coffee and eat while I get ready."
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he took the plate and retreated into the dining room.
Natalia looked at a smiling Buzz. "I quit," she said, simply.
His smiled widened even more. "Good luck, darling."
Natalia was certain she was going to need all the luck she could get when it came to dealing with Olivia Spencer.
The morning's dawn promised to be the start of a beautiful day, Alan Spaulding thought as he and Mr. Li rode through a remote corner of Spaulding Ranch toward his son's campsite. Every week or so, he and Li would take a ride to a different part of the sprawling property as Phillip kept changing locations to avoid detection, especially from that nosy cocksucking Sheriff Bullock, who apparently thought it was his God given right to trespass whenever he felt the urge. Such actions annoyed Alan to no living end.
As the pair came over a small hillock, Alan finally spotted smoke rising through the trees and the two men pointed their horses in that direction. The trail led to a small copse and soon after entering it, they came to the camp. A field tent was set up near the fire where a dark haired man was sitting. He rose to his feet as the pair rode up.
"Mr. Spaulding," Cyrus Foley greeted in an Australian accent. Alan noted he ignored Li's presence, which was exactly how Li preferred.
"Where's Phillip?" Alan asked. "And your brother?" he added, looking around the camp site and not seeing the younger Foley brother.
"Taking a shit," Cyrus answered with a grin. "Grady's gone along to watch his back, so to speak."
"Indeed," Alan said dryly. He dismounted his horse and handed the reins to Li, who led both horses over to where Phillip's and the Foleys' were hobbled as they grazed on sweet meadow grass. He helped himself to a cup of coffee from the pot that was keeping warm near the fire, first grabbing a tin mug he assumed was Cyrus's and tossing its contents to the side.
"By all means, Mr. Spaulding," Cyrus said in a polite tone, but to Alan's amusement, the other man was clearly annoyed. "Help yourself."
"I believe I will, Cyrus," he answered as he squatted near the fire to drink the brew while waiting for his son.
The morning was quiet except for the small sounds coming from Mr. Li as he unloaded supplies from the horses' pack bags and the soft scraping of metal on wood as Cyrus widdled on a branch. Alan didn't bother to see what the man was making. He disapproved of his son's companions and would have preferred Li protect Phillip instead, but as an oriental, Li stood out and could have drawn unwarranted attention whereas the Australian brothers did not in a territory filled with Westerners from every corner of the planet who had come seeking gold. Besides, they were stupidly loyal, something Alan begrudgingly admitted. As long as they got cash money, whiskey and cunt on a regular basis, they were content to ride with Phillip and watch his back.
Alan was broken from his musings by the sound of his son's deep baritone laugh, followed by Grady's higher pitched tone. The two men entered the meadow a few minutes later; Phillip carrying a leather satchel and his companion a bucket of water. It was clear from Phillip's slick hair and freshly shaved face that he had taken the time to bathe.
Seeing Alan at the fire, he tossed his satchel at Cyrus. "Oh Father, my Father," Phillip sang with a maniacal grin on his face. "Have you come to take your long lost son home at last?"
"Not yet, son," Alan said and internally winced at the insane anger that crossed Phillip's face that cleared a moment later.
"This living out of doors is fucking bullshit, Pa," Phillip growled. "Why can't we at least stay in the bunkhouse or the fucking barn even?"
Rather than answer his son, Alan turned to Cyrus and said, "Why don't you take your brother and make yourselves useful while I speak with my son. Go chop fucking wood or something."
"Sure thing, Mr. Spaulding," Cyrus said agreeably. "Come on Grady."
The other brother looked up from where he had been rummaging through one of the supply sacks. "I'm fucking hungry," he whined.
"Go!" Phillip said sharply and Grady immediately dropped the sack and sullenly followed his brother. After they were gone, Phillip turned back to Alan and said, "Let me guess…my dear Aunt Alexandra?"
Alan nodded. "She still hasn't forgiven you for getting her son killed," he said.
"That was an accident," Phillip said.
"You rigged the boiler to explode," Alan pointed out, thinking about the events that occurred on the Mississippi years ago where his nephew's sweetheart had been held after she was kidnapped. The two cousins had rescued her, but Alexandra's son had been killed.
"It wasn't my fault the stupid cocksucker didn't get off the boat in time," Phillip said, petulantly. "And that happened a long time ago, Pa."
"Ancient history, I know," Alan said waving a hand in dismissal. "But dear Alexandra still grieves for her son and I simply can't trust that she won't turn you in, son." Secretly Alan thought it more likely his sister would shoot Phillip on sight, but he would worry about that when it came time for it. Right now, he had to concentrate on getting the charges against Phillip dropped.
"She's only a woman, Pa," Phillip said with a shrug and Alan noted the fire was back in his eyes. "She'll get over it or die with it on her mind and a lot fucking faster than God intends if she fucks with me."
"You forget about Alexandra, Phillip," Alan said, hardening his voice. "Let's just get you home, all right?"
Alan waited while Phillip retreated into his own thoughts for a few minutes. He poured himself more coffee and was sipping it when Phillip finally asked, "So what's the plan, Father?"
"After I leave here, Li and I are heading into Deadwood," he answered, glad that today Phillip was having more lucid moments than he had been exhibiting in recent weeks. "I'm going to send a telegram to a territory commissioner named Hugo Jarry who, I'm told, with sufficient incentive, can arrange to have the federal warrants against you cleared and all charges for your crimes up to this point, dropped.
"Cocksucking politicians," Phillip muttered under his breath. "How do you know you can trust him?"
"Son, one can never trust a politicians, especially one of Jarry's ilk – like you said, cocksuckers all – however, this is how the game is played. This is why you need to continue to lie low and not pull any more stunts like you did with the Turner boy."
"I just wanted to give my darling Emma a birthday gift," Phillip said and then added with a predatory grin, "the boy was just for fun."
"I admire your paternal devotion, Phillip," Alan said, pushing the matter of exactly what his son had done with the boy out of his mind. "But such stunts only serve to agitate Olivia even more. As it is, she has enlisted your brother's assistance. From what I understand, Gus is on his way to Yankton to speak with Jarry on Olivia's behalf."
"She can't outbid you," Phillip pointed out.
"No, but she may have other incentives at her disposal, but again, it's all part of the game," Alan said, thinking about how formidable a woman Olivia Spencer was and with Gus on her side, they stood a chance of winning, something he would not admit to his volatile son.
"We have to get Emma back, Pa," Phillip said. "God only knows what kind of influence that cunt is having on sweet Emma."
"And we shall get her back, Phillip," Alan assured, patiently. "Just follow the rules and things will work out."
"Other people's rules and what they think doesn't matter, my dear Father," Phillip said in a low voice that caused shivers to run down Alan's back. "They're always gonna hate us anyway. No, the only people that I care about are Spauldings. Those Spauldings who stand with us – with our vision of the future of the family – those are the ones who will reap the benefits of what I do for them. Those who don't, like my cocksucking brother Gus or even your dear sister, are useless and will be eliminated. No one is going to stand in my way in getting my daughter back, Pa…understand? No one and certainly not Emma's fucking mother."
"Have patience, my son," Alan said in a soothing tone. "First, we take care of your problem so you can come home, then we get Emma back and then…we destroy Olivia Spencer."
Phillip's eyes seemed to glow at Alan's words.
A knock on her office door interrupted Olivia who was writing correspondence. She had been at work for a while, sorting through tasks that needed to be done into two lists, one for her to handle and the other, longer list, for Natalia to perform. Putting down her pen, she walked around the desk to open the door. In the hall stood her eldest, and obviously exhausted, daughter who smelled of whiskey and cigar smoke.
"Ava, dear, come in," she said and closed the door behind the taller woman. She took Ava's hand and drew her over to the settee. Once they were settled, she asked, "Have you been out all night?"
Ava nodded. "I had a good night, too, Mother," she said with a smirk. "Very lucrative and I learned there's a poker tournament being arranged with some of the biggest players invited. I aim to be there for it."
"Where and when?" Olivia asked, knowing that even though Ava would not be invited, she would still be able to earn a spot at a table.
"New Orleans in two months," Ava answered.
Olivia thought a moment. "That gives you just enough time to get there."
"So I figured," Ava agreed. "There's a stage leaving in a couple of days for Yankton. The office isn't opened yet, but I'll go there later and book it."
"No, honey, you get some sleep," Olivia said, shaking her head. "I'll take care of it."
"Are you sure, Mother?" Ava asked. "You're always so busy."
There was a knock on the door and Olivia smirked. "I'll just have my new assistant handle it."
"Assistant?" Ava asked, confused.
Olivia got up and opened the door revealing, as she had been certain, Natalia Rivera. "My assistant," she said to Ava.
"Good morning, Olivia," Natalia said and Olivia was amused to note that Natalia had dropped the 'Miss Spencer.' She supposed Natalia had earned that right after yesterday's events and allowed it to pass without comment. "Miss Peralta," Natalia said to Ava.
"Miss Rivera," Ava said, rising from the settee. "Congratulations on your new position."
"Thank you," Natalia answered and then turned to Olivia with an expectant look.
"Ava is travelling to New Orleans and needs to be there in two months' time," she said in a no nonsense tone. "I want you to arrange her passage, first by coach to Yankton and then by steamer. Find out if any are going directly to New Orleans so she doesn't have to change ships. If I know my daughter, she'll already have a game going and won't want to interrupt it for something as tiresome as changing steamers."
Ava's smirk mirrored her mother's.
"Then send a telegram to a Antonio Monteleone at the Commercial Hotel in New Orleans and book her a suite for the duration of her stay." Olivia walked to the desk and quickly wrote a note. "Stop by the bank and give this to Alma, she'll have a draft sent to the hotel to cover Ava's expenses."
"Mother, you don't have to do that," Ava protested.
"If I don't, you'll end up staying at the worst flophouse in the Quarter," Olivia said with a fond smile for her daughter. Then she turned back to Natalia. "After you get back, I want you to spend some time with the concierge and have him explain his job to you. I want you to do the same with Chef and the sommelier. Do you need to write any of this down?"
"No," Natalia said simply.
Olivia eyed her for a moment, satisfied when Natalia didn't back down. "Are you still working for Buzz?"
"No."
"Good," Olivia said with a nod. "Bring some of your things here for those nights when you have to work late and believe me, there will be plenty of those. Go to the dressmaker and ask her to come here as soon as she can. I want her to alter some of my older gowns for you."
"Olivia, that's not necess…"
Olivia held up a hand to stop the protest. "With this new position, you are even more visible to my guests and clients than you were before and as such you are expected to reflect that in your manner and appearance. Consider it no different than the chambermaid uniform you were assigned."
"All right," Natalia said with a nod of agreement. "Is there anything else?"
"Can you pick up Emma from school?" Olivia asked, her voice softening. "Last night she asked if you could teach her more Spanish and I'd appreciate it if you could spend some time with her."
"Of course," Natalia said.
"After that, you can head home." Olivia said. "Now that Ava is travelling soon, I want to spend extra time with her before she leaves." She turned to Ava. "If that's all right by you, honey?"
"Certainly, Mother," Ava said. "But right now I need to get some sleep. I'll join you and Emma for supper."
"I'm sorry to have kept you so long," Olivia said, kissing Ava's cheek.
"Quite all right," Ava said then turned to Natalia. "Once again, congratulations and good luck, Miss Rivera."
"Thank you, Miss Peralta," Natalia replied.
"Ava, please."
"Then please, call me Natalia," Natalia said gracefully. "Enjoy your rest and I'll have your travel arrangements completed as soon as possible."
"Thank you, Natalia," Ava said.
"Sleep well, honey," Olivia said and closed the door behind her. She turned to find the other woman regarding her thoughtfully. "What?" she asked.
"You may not have raised her, but she's very much like you," Natalia replied
Olivia nodded. "Strong and independent," she said. "Which is why I need to keep Emma away from those cocksucking Spauldings. She has too pure a soul for them to corrupt."
Natalia was silent a moment longer, then said, "The stage office will be open by the time I get there so I'll take my leave now."
"Good," Olivia said and watched the other woman's departure. Then, sitting at her desk she picked up her quill and resumed her writing.
Mose Manuel approached Natalia before she left the hotel and told her that Deputy Utter had stopped by on his way to his office with the news that the two men she had shot had indeed left town the prior evening.
"The one was not sitting too comfortably on his horse, Mr. Utter had been sure to note, Miss Rivera," Mose informed her with an amused glint in his eyes. "However, the good deputy reported the doc had said they in all likelihood would be fine."
"Thank you, Mose," she said, lightly touching his muscular arm. "It will make my errands easier to perform if I don't have to constantly watch my back. However, Miss Spencer has requested I fetch Emma from the schoolhouse. Will you accompany me, for the child's safety, not my own."
"Indeed I will, ma'am," he said. "And if you don't mind my saying so, you watch your back regardless."
"Good advice, my friend," she said with a nod and headed out of the hotel.
The day was crisp yet already warming as the sun rose higher in the gulch. As ever, the town was bustling and busy as men and women went about their business. Commerce was flourishing and this was reflected in the new enterprises that were popping up. Charlie Utter had mentioned at supper the other night that Seth Bullock and Sol Star were building a brickworks to handle the demand for new construction. Natalia was hopeful for their future, especially for her son. As Rafe learned his trade and gained proficiency, he had the opportunity of one day owning his own business. Natalia resolved to put aside some of her new salary for that possibility.
Her business at the stage office was quickly concluded and she then headed to the combination telegraph/newspaper office. Inside, her senses were immediately assaulted with the strong smell of ink and ozone, which she assumed was emanating from the complex telegraph equipment. The large man she knew to be the publisher of the Pioneer immediately approached her.
"Good morning," he said politely.
"Good morning," she said. "Mr. Merrick, I believe."
"You are indeed correct, good lady," the man said.
"Natalia Rivera," she said, holding out her hand.
"Oh yes!" Merrick said, enthusiastically shaking her hand. "The good marshal's fiancée." He turned to the other man who was standing stiffly off to the side. "Blazanov, this is the wonderful cook whose board we have enjoyed many an evening at Company."
The mustachioed man gave her a bow. "Madam," he said in a thick accent. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"I regret to inform you, Mr. Merrick, Mr. Blazanov, that I am no longer in the employ of Mr. Cooper," she said. "I am now working full time for Miss Spencer at the Beacon."
"Oh that is sad news for us, Miss Rivera, but I'm sure the assumed improvement of your situation is indeed fortuitous for you and, I also am certain, a reflection on your abilities and intellect," Merrick said.
"Thank you, Mr. Merrick," Natalia replied with an inner smile, immediately liking the journalist and not only for his compliments. She had heard he was an honest man who had put his life on the line in defense of the town.
"How may we be of assistance, Miss Rivera?" Blazanov asked.
"I will need to send several telegrams, Mr. Blazanov," Natalia replied and then turned to Merrick. "And do you have the current timetables for riverboats departing from Yankton, Mr. Merrick."
"Indeed, I do," he answered and began shuffling through some papers. "Now where did I put those schedules?" he muttered to himself.
In the meantime, Blazanov handed her several sheets of telegraph forms and directed her to a table supplied with writing instruments neatly organized. She thanked him, then sat down to begin writing out the telegrams. Merrick approached her and handed her a sheaf of papers.
"If you need anything else, Miss Rivera, please do not hesitate to call upon me," Merrick said. "I and the Pioneer are at your disposal."
"Thank you, Mr. Merrick," she said. "Your kindness is as boundless as your courtesy."
Merrick gave her a wide, pleased grin and then left her to her work. Forty minutes later, she handed Blazanov the completed forms. "Does the Beacon have an account with you, sir?" she asked.
"Indeed," the Russian replied. "All expenses are billed once a month."
"Good, and thank you for your assistance," she said and turned to Merrick who had been working at his press. "And for yours, Mr. Merrick."
"You are most welcome," Merrick said as he approached her, wiping his hands on an inky rag. "Miss Rivera, I was wondering if you had any information regarding an altercation that occurred yesterday at the Beacon. I had heard that you were involved somehow, yet Sheriff Bullock was quite reticent to provide the Pioneer with details."
Natalia felt her stomach dropped at the memory. She had no desire to be to be the object of even more gossip around town, but since she had been seen by several guests and employees and Buzz had already heard, she could only hope to minimize the damage.
"There was an incident, yes Mr. Merrick," she finally answered. "Two men were shot while attacking one of the hotel's employees, however, I'm told they suffered no permanent damage and have already left town." She paused as Merrick scribbled furiously in his notebook, she glanced at Blazanov who was working at his telegraph, then added, "While I understand that you have an obligation to report the news, Mr. Merrick, however, I would appreciate if you could keep my name out of the paper."
Merrick's eyes widened as he apparently grasped the situation. "My dear woman!" he said moving closer and lowering his voice. "Are you all right?"
"I assure you, sir, they did not harm my person," she answered, wondering if people would stop asking her that question. "However, I do not wish my name associated with the incident as part of the public record."
Merrick nodded vigorously. "Certainly, certainly!" he said. "I will keep my report to the bare facts and no more. Thank you for the information and for your candor, Miss Rivera."
"You're welcome, sir," she said, giving him a wide smile and was amused to see his cheeks flush. "Now I really…" she was about to make take her leave when she glanced at the pile of newsprint that Merrick had been working on and one of the headlines caught her eye. She moved closer. "Excuse my forwardness, Mr. Merrick, but I couldn't help but notice this announcement. This will be in two weeks?"
Merrick joined her. "Yes, I am hoping to make the trip to see him," he said. "He visited our fair camp not long after our founding, but he hasn't been in the area since."
Natalia ran the information quickly through her head, her mind racing with possibilities. She remembered Olivia's expression, that combination of confidence and contempt regarding her ability to perform the job she had suddenly found herself with. Natalia came to a firm decision. "Mr. Blazanov, another telegram, if I may? And this time, charge me directly and not the Beacon's account."
Later that afternoon, Natalia was back in Olivia's office as the hotel owner reviewed the accounts with her, when there was a knock at the door.
"Cheyenne and Black Hills Telegraph," a voice that Natalia immediately recognized as Blazanov's said through the door.
"Come in," Olivia called out and the door opened to reveal the Russian telegraph operator.
When the man approached the desk where they were sitting, Olivia held out her hand, but Blazanov pulled the sheet of paper closer to him as he said, "Telegram for Miss Rivera."
Olivia's eyebrows rose in surprise and Natalia could feel those powerful green eyes on her as she opened the telegram. Reading its contents brought a smile to her face. "Thank you so much, Mr. Blazanov," she said, handing the telegram to Olivia. "Would you mind sending a reply?"
"Of course, madam," he said making a small bow.
Natalia quickly wrote out the telegram and handed it and a coin to Blazanov. He accepted both and with a click of his heels, turned and exited the office. Natalia turned to see Olivia looking stunned.
"How did you manage this?" Olivia asked, holding up the telegram.
Natalia smiled. "Mr. Merrick was printing an announcement that he'll be in Rapid City so I sent him an invitation to come speak here at the Beacon. As you can see, he said yes," Natalia answered, feeling very proud of herself.
"So I see," Olivia said, slowly, rubbing her lip thoughtfully. "And did it occur to you that maybe you should have fucking checked with me first?"
"It did," Natalia admitted. "But I saw the opportunity and took it. You stand to earn a big profit from this and you didn't have to do a thing. That's why you hired me, isn't it?"
"It is," Olivia conceded and Natalia could see in Olivia's eyes that she was amused. "Very well, then, since this was your idea, you handle it. I'll want a reception supper for after his lecture; I'll give you the guest list and you can get the invitations sent out right away. Any other fucking details you can handle yourself."
"Right," Natalia said. She glanced at the clock. "It's time to go get Emma," she said. "Is there anything else for now?"
"Don't tell Emma about this, I'll want to surprise her," Olivia said. "He's her favorite author and she's going to be very happy to meet him." Olivia paused and Natalia waited while Olivia scrutinized her again. Finally Olivia said, "Go on, get the fuck out of here for now."
As Natalia left the office a huge smile broke out on her face. She knew that she had impressed Olivia on the very first day of her new job and even though the woman was trouble, for the first time Natalia felt glad for their association.
Olivia held Emma's hand as they both watched Natalia direct two of the Beacon's porters who were lifting Ava's steamer trunk up to the freight rack on the roof of the coach. Her assistant had proven herself extremely competent when it came to making Ava's travel arrangements. In fact, Natalia had efficiently completed every task she had been assigned, Olivia thought. The only time she had ever shown the slightest hesitation in the performance of her duties had been when dealing directly with the hotel's staff. She suspected that Natalia had never been in a leadership position before, but Olivia felt confident enough to know that the other woman's skills would only improve with time.
The sun was shining brightly as the loading of the coach was completed. Olivia turned to her daughter who was riffling through her carpetbag.
"Got everything?" Olivia asked. "Cash, cards, dice?"
Ava gave her a rueful grin. "Hey, what can I say? They're the tools of my trade."
Olivia laughed. "I guess that's true," she said and glanced at her younger daughter. "Emma, it's time to say goodbye to Ava."
Emma let go of her mother's hand and clambered on a shipping crate. She held out her arms toward her sister and wrapped them around Ava's neck. Ava lifted the girl in a firm grip, spun her around twice and then set her back on her feet again. "I'm gonna miss you, Ava," Emma said.
"I'm going to miss you, too, little sister," Ava said.
"Will you bring me back something from the big city?" Emma asked, her arms still draped loosely around Ava.
"Sure will," Ava said. "What do you want?"
"Jodie says that people play with funny dolls in New Orleans," Emma said. "I want one of those."
"A funny doll?" Ava asked, her face twisting.
Olivia let out a bark of laughter. "She means a voodoo doll, honey," she told her eldest daughter.
Ava gave her a scandalized look and then turned back to Emma. "Is that really what you want, Emma?" At the little girl's nod, she rolled her eyes and said, "Well…all right, I'll see what I can find for you."
Emma leaned forward and kissed Ava on the cheek. "Thank you, Ava!" she said.
"Love you, little sister," Ava said. "Can you promise me you'll be good for Mother?"
"I promise," Emma said seriously and Olivia's heart swelled with pride.
Ava gave her sister a final kiss, then helped her down from the crate. By this time, Natalia had finished supervising the loading of Ava's baggage and Olivia noticed she had dismissed the porters. Olivia motioned with her head toward Emma and Natalia walked over to join them.
"Emma," she said, taking the little girl's hand. "How about we get some ice cream?"
"Oh yes, Miss Natalia!"
Natalia turned to Ava. "Enjoy your trip, Ava and good luck," she said.
Ava's smile was huge. "Thanks, Natalia, but us Spencer's don't need luck."
Even Emma laughed, although Olivia suspected her youngest daughter didn't quite comprehend all the subtle meanings in Ava's statement. She watched Natalia and Emma head down the street and then turned back to Ava who was watching her with a curious look on her face. "So, honey, seriously now, are you going to be all right?" she asked.
"Of course, Mother, I'll be fine," Ava answered. "Will you?"
Olivia's eyebrows clenched in confusion. "Me? I'm fucking terrific," she answered, shrugging her shoulders.
"Are you sure?" Ava said again. "You've been all over the place lately, Mother. Between Gus and the pressure from Alan and his cocksucking son and this thing with Natalia."
"This thing with Natalia?" Olivia said, getting annoyed. "What fucking thing are you talking about, Ava?"
"Olivia, she's your rival," Ava pointed out. "You don't give your rivals high paying jobs, you eliminate them. Remember Reva Shayne?"
"Reva is alive and well back on San Cristobel," Olivia pointed out. "Where she belongs."
"Exactly," Ava said. "She's in the Caribbean and not in Deadwood. Why haven't you sent Natalia back to Chicago or wherever the fuck she came from?"
"She's a good worker," Olivia said defensively, not liking the direction Ava's questions were taking. "I might as well make use of that and besides, she's not the type to give up that easily, for money or anything else. I can use that against her as well."
"You can?" Ava said and Olivia could hear the doubt in her voice.
"Trust me, honey," Olivia said with a smirk. "I can handle Natalia Rivera just fine. Come now; give your mother a hug goodbye."
Ava paused a moment, her eyes scanning Olivia, but then the doubt in them cleared and she shook her head as she moved to embrace her mother. "You and Emma be well, Mother."
"We will. Write often, honey," Olivia said. "I want news and details of your journey and adventures in New Orleans."
"I promise," Ava said. "You and Emma please do the same, all right? I fully expect you to have a new surname by the time I return. You've been single much too long now."
Olivia laughed. "Agreed," she said. "Goodbye, my darling. Be careful." Reluctantly letting Ava go, she watched as the coach driver helped her daughter up the steps and inside. He tipped his hat to Olivia and then climbed up and sat next to another burly man carrying a large shotgun. She sent a mental command to them both to keep her daughter safe from road agents and marauding Indians. With a snap of the reins, the team of horses began to pull the big coach. Olivia watched for a few minutes as they headed up the gulch, and then with a sigh, she went to join her daughter and Natalia in their treat.
Before she reached the tiny shop, she was stopped by a large man who smelled strongly of animals. "Miss Spencer, ma'am?" he said tipping his hat.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Lindstrom, ma'am," he said, with another hat tip. "Work for Mr. Utter, I do. Do y'know where I can find a lady named Rivera? Buzz over t'Company said dat she works fer you."
Olivia noticed he was carrying a package under his arm. "Is that for her?" she asked.
"Ayah," he said nodding vigorously. "From t'marshal. He ast I bring it t'her."
Olivia's mind was racing. "Well, she's off running an errand for me, Mr. Lindstrom," she said. "I don't know when she'll be back."
"Oh," Lindstrom said with a disappointed tone in his voice. "Need t'get this t'her, but Mr. Utter needs me t'head to Cheyenne t'day."
"Well, I certainly will see to it that she gets the package the moment she arrives back at the hotel, good sir," she said with a bright smile on her face.
"Oh, but t'marshal ast me to give it t'her direct," he said.
"Of course," Olivia said. "And I admire your dedication to your work, but I assure you that I will personally place this package in Miss Rivera's hands."
Lindstrom paused a moment and then with a nod, gave her the package. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "'Preciate it, I do. Long way t'Cheyenne and I need t'get a'goin'"
"Then by all means, be on your way, Mr. Lindstrom," she said and with a wave sent him on. As she glanced at the package, a small smile played across her lips. "Stupid hooplehead," she muttered and quickly turned toward the Beacon.
Gus eyed his son who was sipping from a mug of coffee as they ate their breakfast in the dining room of the Yankton hotel they were staying at. Rafe looked tired and no wonder, Gus thought. He had heard the boy come to their room long after midnight and quietly slip into his pallet.
He suspected Rafe had been out gambling – hustling the young men of the territory capital who probably thought they could in turn hustle Rafe. While Gus understood Rafe's motivations – it certainly wasn't anything Gus hadn't done himself as a boy – he still worried for his son. The Dakota Territory was not Chicago, mean as its streets may be, and life here was more dangerous. As a marshal, he had seen too many cocky young men like Rafe end up in trouble or worse through gambling, whoring or thieving.
However, Gus had been impressed on how well Rafe had handled himself on the long trip from Deadwood. Once his body had toughened to the saddle, Rafe had easily handled his father's hard pace and he showed promise that one day, likely soon, his son would be the type of man other men would be proud to ride with. Gus knew that Rafe was on that rocky precipice between the boy he had been and the man he would become. He was more grateful than ever that Natalia had brought his son to him so he could help Rafe fulfill his potential to be a great man.
"Rafe, this morning I'm meeting with that commissioner I told you about," he finally said.
Rafe looked up from his plate and asked, "Need me to watch your back, sir?"
Gus chuckled. "No son, I can handle the weasel just fine, but when you're done with your breakfast, I want you to go see Mr. Szabó at his tailor shop near the levee. I've commissioned him to make you a new frock suit for the wedding."
Rafe's eyes widened in surprise. "I already have the suit Mama bought for me before we left Chicago," he said. "It's old, but serviceable enough for the wedding I suppose."
"I don't think you've quite realized it yet, Rafael," Gus said with a snort. "But you have filled out considerably since arriving in Deadwood. That old suit might have some use left in it if we take it to an alterationist, but I want you to look fine for your mother's special day. Therefore, you will wear a new suit specially made just for you. Szabó is making one for me as well."
"That's right sweet of you, Father," Rafe said with a wide smile and Gus felt a surge of love for his son. It wasn't very often that Rafe called him anything except sir. "I thank you for your gift and I'm sure Mama will be mighty pleased when she sees her two handsome men on her wedding day."
A shadow darkened their table before Gus could respond and they both looked up.
"Marshal Aitoro?" a tall, doughy man wearing spectacles and a bowler hat asked.
"Commissioner Jarry, I assume? Gus said as he stood up.
"The one and the same, sir, at your service," Jarry said and glanced at Rafe.
"My son, Rafael," Gus said in introduction.
"How do you do, young Master Rafael?" Jarry asked.
"Rafe is fine, sir," Rafe said, also standing up to shake the hand Jarry offered.
"Handsome and such fine manners as well," Jarry said turning to Gus. "You must be exceedingly proud of him, Marshal."
"That I am, sir," Gus remarked and then said to Rafe. "Son, why don't you head over to the tailor's now and start getting measured? I'll meet you there when my business with the commissioner is done."
"All right, sir," Rafe said and stood. The two men watched as the young man left the dining room.
"Is there a special occasion to warrant new garments, Marshal?" Jarry asked.
"I'm wedding the boy's mother," Gus said and then to divert any further questions, he asked, "Do you mind if we walk while we speak, Commissioner?"
"A wise idea, my dear Marshal," Jarry agreed and they left the hotel. Outside, Gus paused to light a cheroot and then led the way toward the river where he was to later meet his son.
"Upon commencement of our discussion, Marshal," Jarry began after they had walked for a few moments, "I will state upfront in full disclosure to ensure the enmity of our future negotiations that I have been contacted by Alan Spaulding."
"Cocksucker," Gus muttered under his breath. "And what was the gist of your correspondence with Mr. Spaulding, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"
"You may, sir," Jarry replied. "In fact, I do encourage your inquiries, hence my motives for introducing the subject." Jarry paused. "To avoid the dangers of being unsuccinct, Mr. Spaulding wishes in regards to the charges pending against his most cherished son Phillip, that I, like an illusionist plying his trade on the stage, ensure that the aforementioned charges vanish into the thin air of the Black Hills."
Inwardly, Gus had to roll his eyes at Jarry's frilly words, upsetting as they were, but he made sure to keep his outward appearance calm. "I have no doubt that the ability of accomplishing such feats of conjury are within your skills, Commissioner."
"You are an astute man, Marshal," Jarry said. "Mr. Spaulding's request is certainly within my purview."
"For a price, no doubt," Gus pointed out.
"Indeed, for a price," Jarry said. "Which brings me to your problem, Marshal. From your correspondence, it appears to me that your request and Mr. Spaulding's are at opposite purposes."
"This is correct, Commissioner," Gus acknowledged. "However, there is something I need to make clear in the interest of full disclosure. I will not be dealing with you directly in regards to this transaction. Your business is with Olivia Spencer who is willing to pay a princely sum to insure that Phillip Spaulding is brought to justice."
"And what a formidable woman Miss Spencer is, Marshal," Jarry exclaimed. "However, from what I understand, the beautiful Miss Spencer could not possibly match Spaulding's quite considerable counteroffer should he decide to negotiate beyond that royal amount."
"I'm aware of Alan's resources, Commissioner, however think on this for a moment if you will – isn't the not doing of something far, far easier than the doing of something?" Gus paused and eyed Jarry. "Not to mention less apt to land you in prison."
"Fortune has favored my stars thus far," Jarry said, waving an arm.
"There's an amusing thing about fortune, Jarry," Gus said, putting steel in his voice. "It has a tendency of abandoning you when you least expect it. Why, in fact, just before I left Deadwood, I received notice that you were involved in the disappearance of Federal funds intended for the starving residents of the Pine Ridge Reservation."
"Indians really have no concept of currency, Marshal," Jarry said. "I have found they are unable to comprehend the difference between ten dollars and a hundred dollars."
"Also allegations of election tampering," Gus continued as if Jarry hadn't spoken.
"Election tampering!" Jarry exclaimed. "Why the unlawful folks of Deadwood promptly ignored the entire election and just went back to the way things had been before with Bullock as town sheriff and the legal winner reduced to a fire chief."
"The good people of Deadwood have sense enough to ignore a politician's bullshit, Commissioner," Gus said. "Be that as it may, those allegations are on my desk and I am prepared to begin my investigation as soon as I return to Deadwood. In fact, I may just start right here in Yankton to save some time and effort."
Jarry eyed Gus. "And how enthusiastic will said investigation be if I choose to deal with Miss Spencer and not Alan Spaulding?" he asked.
"My upcoming nuptials will be a deciding factor, Jarry," Gus said. "If Miss Spencer is happy, then I will be free to plan my wedding. If she is not, then I will have to spend more time looking for other ways to fulfill my promise to protect her and her daughter, my niece. Neither I, nor my intended will care for that solution and I can assure you that the file on my desk will be at the top of my priorities."
"I see," Jarry said and then looked out over the Missouri river. "Very well then, Marshal. I will go to Deadwood, despite the horrid way I have been treated by its inhabitants in the past, barely escaping with my life several times. I will speak with Miss Spencer and give her offer first priority."
"Thank you, Commissioner," Gus said and drew deeply on his cheroot to wash the bad taste out of his mouth.
"Tell me, Marshal," Jarry said. "Other than your solicitude for Miss Spencer and your niece, it seems to me you stand to gain much more than just their gratitude for this. You are Alan Spaulding's bastard son and with his youngest son dead, if Phillip hangs for his crimes, that makes you sole heir to the Spaulding fortune."
"I have no interest in Alan Spaulding or his money, Commissioner," Gus said firmly. "Right now my concerns are with helping Olivia Spencer and finally wedding the mother of my child. Good day, sir. We'll be in touch."
With that he turned on his boot heel and headed to join Rafe at the tailor shop, leaving the wily politician behind.
"You need to switch Doris Wolfe with Alma Garrett," Olivia said as she handed back the seating chart for the dinner party. "As much as I hate doing this to Josh, it's better to seat him next to Doris rather than Alma."
"All right," Natalia said making a note. "Anything else?"
Olivia scanned the chart. She felt bad she couldn't invite the mayor's lady Trixie, but her status as a former prostitute prevented her from doing so. Ironically, she was able to invite both Jane Cannary and Joanie Stubbs, themselves also former practitioners of the craft, but Jane's notoriety and Joanie's reputation as a solid businesswoman and early founder of the town, allowed them access to society. Perhaps in a few years Trixie's past would be forgotten, especially since Alma regularly included her head bank clerk to her events, daring the rest of the town's elite to stay away. None did, of course; Alma's status as the richest woman in town meant she could do damn near anything she pleased with little care for what people thought.
"I think that's all for now," Olivia finally answered. "Make sure Jane is available to sit with the girls. Emma is very excited about having Sofia and Clarissa to visit."
"That she is," Natalia agreed, folding up the chart. "Oh, I spoke with the woman who raises the high quality fowl. She'll deliver the geese for the foie gras to Chef in the morning."
"Excellent," Olivia said. "About fucking time we had civilized ingredients available in the Hills. Chef is going to be ecstatic. Make sure she's wel paid and on time. I want a steady supply for the restaurant's menu."
A knock on the office door interrupted them. "Come in," Olivia called.
The door opened slowly and Richardson stuck his head in. "Miss Rivera, the coach is coming over the ridge."
"Thank you, Richardson," Natalia said, standing up and smoothing her hands down her gown and then throwing her shawl over her shoulders. "I'll be back shortly," she told Olivia.
Olivia nodded. She stood and walked to the window. Looking out, she could see Natalia hurrying down the thoroughfare on her way to meet the stagecoach. Natalia was wearing one of the old gowns that the dressmaker had altered, Olivia's noted approvingly. The dress was much better looking on Natalia than it had been on her and showed off Natalia's curves in a flattering way without being too revealing.
Another knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Come in," she called out.
Mose Manuel entered and Olivia could see he was carrying a bulky package. "Delivery boy from Utter's, Miss Spencer, with a package."
"On the desk, Mose," she said. Walking over she pulled a note from under the string and broke its seal. Her stomach sank at the sight of the familiar script.
"My dearest Olivia," the note read. "News of your esteemed guest has reached my ears and I have taken it upon myself to secure this collection for our dear Emma's enjoyment and edification. I pray that soon I will have occasion to sit by the fire in the parlor at the ranch and read to her from them. Until that time, I remain your ever faithful servant, P.S."
"Cocksucker!" Olivia exclaimed, throwing the note away from her. She picked up one of the volumes and saw it was a first edition, richly bound in leather with gilded end pages. All of the books were of similar quality.
Mose shifted nervously on his feet. "Shall I get rid of them, Miss Spencer?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "No. Take them to the schoolhouse," she said. "There's no reason the children should not benefit from them."
"That's right kind of you, ma'am," he said as he picked up the package. She waited until he had closed the door behind him, then poured herself a shot of whiskey. "Cocksucking bastard," she mumbled under her breath and threw back the liquor.
By the time Natalia arrived at the stagecoach office, Merrick was already there and nearly bouncing on his heels in excitement. His face lit up with a smile when he spied her. As always, his friend Mr. Blazanov was lingering nearby.
"My dear Miss Rivera!" Merrick said. "Is this not an exciting day?"
"Yes, Mr. Merrick, it is very exciting," she agreed with a laugh. "Mr. Blazanov, how good to see you."
"And you as well, Miss Rivera," the Russian said with a bow.
"The town owes you a great debt for your contribution to this thrilling event, dear lady" Merrick said.
Natalia shook her head. "I was just doing my job, Mr. Merrick. Miss Spencer hired me to help her with her business and this is simply a part of that."
"You showed great ingenuity and quick thinking, Miss Rivera. Any words lessening your role will not annex a negative influence on my high regard of you," he said.
Natalia smiled. "Thank you, sir," she said and then turned to watch the approach of the coach.
The big carriage pulled to a stop in front of the stage office and the driver and his partner quickly hopped down from the high seat. The door to the coach opened and the driver helped two women passengers out and then a man dressed in a brown suit with a thin bow tie emerged. He had a sharp-beaked nose with a bushy mustache underneath and his eyes were piercing and intelligent. He immediately lit up a black cheroot and looked around, running his fingers through his unruly hair just beginning to show some grey in it in a futile attempt to organize the locks. Both Natalia and Merrick approached.
"Mr. Samuel Clemens?" Natalia asked and the man turned in her direction.
"Indeed I am," he answered with a smile. "And you must be the wonderful Miss Rivera whose correspondence I have enjoyed this past fortnight."
"At your service, sir," Natalia said. "And I believe you've met Mr. Merrick of the Black Hills Pioneer."
"Mr. Clemens, what an honor it is that you have graced our town yet again with your presence," Merrick said shaking his hand vigorously. He turned to Blazanov and said, "Mr. Blazanov, this is the famous author who writes under the nom de plume Mark Twain."
"Mr. Twain," Blazanov said, clicking his heels. "It is an honor to meet you and I look forward to hearing you speak on the morrow."
"The honor is mine, good sir," Clemens said and turned to Merrick. "When last I was in Deadwood, it was barely a camp full of tents given to the lawlessness of a raw pioneer town. It is to my fascination to see how it has grown in the years since." He turned to Natalia. "And from what I understand, your employer's hotel is one of the most luxurious in the Black Hills."
"I'm proud to say that's true, Mr. Clemens," she replied. "I'll have our porters fetch your baggage to the hotel. Shall we?"
Clemens nodded and said to Merrick. "I trust we'll see each other again quite soon, Merrick."
"Indeed we will, sir," Merrick said. "I'm invited to the dinner party the good Miss Spencer is giving in your honor."
"Excellent, excellent," he said. Turning back to Natalia, he said, "Then indeed, let's walk."
As they strolled toward the Beacon, Natalia asked, "I have prepared the schedule of your lectures while you're here, as well as the contract detailing terms we agreed upon in our correspondence, Mr. Clemens. I left a copy of both for you in your suite at the Beacon."
"Excellent, my dear," Clemens said, puffing on his cheroot.
A poster nailed to the front of the newspaper office caught her eye. It was one of the advertisements she had commissioned Merrick to print announcing the dates and times of Clemen's lectures at the Beacon. She had to smile at the final line on the poster – "The doors will open at 7 o'clock, and the trouble will begin at 8." Clemens himself had suggested the wording as it was one of his trademark jokes.
"Also," Natalia continued. "Mrs. Bullock, the sheriff's wife and our school teacher, has asked me to convey her request you might perhaps speak with the children this afternoon?"
"I should be delighted to do so, my dear," he said, nodding his head as he puffed on his cheroot. "The children of this town are your future leaders and businessmen and parents for the next generation. Their views are a delight to me as they see the world without prejudice or avarice." He turned his head toward her. "Do you have children, Miss Rivera?"
"A son, Rafael," she answered. "He's sixteen and traveling to the territory capital in Yankton with his father, my fiancé U.S. Marshal Gus Aitoro."
"Sixteen!" Clemens exclaimed. "I believe you jest, dear lady. It surely is not possible that one as young as yourself should have a nearly grown son."
Natalia smiled. She had been a little leery about meeting the famous author and lecturer, but now that she had, she immediately warmed to him. From his friendly personality to his instant disregard of the fact she was not currently married to her son's father, all let her know that here was a man whose outlook on life was refreshing and not prone to vagaries of falsehood or strictures of social expectations. "I first read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer to Rafe when he was twelve or so," she said. "It immediately became his favorite book and I constantly had to check the volume out of the library in Chicago for him to enjoy."
Clemens chuckled. "I have heard a similar tale from New York to San Francisco, Miss Rivera," he said. "And my heart warms with each telling, to be sure."
"I imagine it brings you much satisfaction to know that your efforts are rewarded so over the wide world," she said.
"It does," he acknowledged. "However, I have found that fame is a vapor and popularity an accident. There is only one certainty in life and that comes sooner or later to all men of all walks of life. It behooves me to enjoy life on a day by day basis."
"A good philosophy, I'm sure," she said. They had finally reached the hotel and paused while the doorman allowed them entrance.
Clemens looked around and nodded in appreciation. "Rumors of your employer's lavishness have not been exaggerated, my dear."
"Thank you, sir," Natalia said, leading the way to the concierge's desk to get him checked in. As she was filling in the register, the door to Olivia's office opened and the woman herself emerged.
"Mr. Clemens," Natalia said. "May I present the Beacon's proprietor, Miss Olivia Spencer, formerly of San Cristobel and Springfield, Illinois? Olivia, Mr. Samuel Langhorne Clemens of Hartford, Connecticut."
"Mr. Clemens," Olivia said in her deepest tones, holding out her hand to the man. "What an honor it is to have you grace my humble establishment with your august presence."
"Miss Spencer, the honor is indeed mine," Clemens replied, taking her hand and leaning over it to kiss. "And may I be so bold as to say that your loveliness far exceeds that of your prestigious hotel."
"Thank you, sir," she said. "I expect you'll wish to freshen yourself after your journey, however, first may I inquire if you would be so kind as to join me for supper this evening?"
"I'll look forward to it," he answered and then turned to Natalia. "Will you be dining with us as well, my dear?"
"Um," Natalia hesitated and glanced at the other woman.
"Of course she will," Olivia answered. "Natalia is my right hand."
Natalia gave her a doubting look and was glad when Clemens didn't seem to notice. "Yes, Mr. Clemens," she said.
"Excellent!" he said exuberantly.
"Gregory," Olivia said to the concierge. "Please show Mr. Clemens to his suite."
Natalia added, "Sir, I will come for you when it's time to go to the schoolhouse."
"I'll see you ladies, soon," Clemens said and followed Gregory up the stairs.
"He agreed to speak with the children?" Olivia asked when he was gone.
"Yes."
"Good," Olivia said and then paused with a sigh. "That fucking cocksucker Phillip sent over Twain's complete collected works as a gift for Emma. I figured it would be put to better use in the schoolhouse and sent them over with Mose. Perhaps you can ask if Clemens will sign them for Mrs. Bullock."
"All right," Natalia said and then bit her lip in thought. "I'm surprised you didn't burn the books on sight."
Olivia let out a bark of laughter. "Believe me, I considered it." She paused as she glanced at Natalia. "Good work with Clemens," she said. "The man is smitten with you. I'd say you've got it as well."
Natalia looked at Olivia as a blush suffused her face as she remembered their previous conversation. Olivia was standing quite closely to her and as always when in Olivia's close presence, she felt off kilter. The weeks since she had become Olivia's assistant had eased their tumultuous relationship somewhat as it was clear the two women worked extremely well together, however Olivia's unhidden resolve to procure Nicky for herself had not abated and the tension between them remained unchanged. It also didn't alter the fact that whenever Olivia got this close to her, she became flustered. Taking a deep breath, she finally answered, "Perhaps he is." Then she shrugged. "Doesn't matter though. Unlike you, I'm not the type to take advantage of it."
"More fool you, my dear," Olivia said with a smirk. "Now, get back to work."
"All right," Natalia said and went to make sure the porters had delivered their guest's baggage. She was a little apprehensive about dining with Olivia this evening. She would much rather head back to her room at Company to relax as tomorrow would prove to be an extremely busy day, but it seemed to her that once again her time would have to be devoted to Olivia Spencer's needs.
The presentation at the schoolhouse that Samuel Clemens gave to the children of Deadwood was a great success, Olivia thought as she dressed for dinner. Emma and the other children had been delighted by his warm humor and colorful tales and afterward Mrs. Bullock had thanked Olivia personally for hosting the famous author. Olivia had glanced at Natalia who was speaking with Emma and Alma Garret's ward Sophia Metz. She knew the credit went to her assistant for bringing the man to town, but she simply thanked the teacher for her kind words and told her she looked forward to seeing her again at the dinner for Clemens.
Natalia came for her right before seven, having taken a few hours to relax and change for their dinner. Olivia looked her over approvingly, noting that the pair of them would pose a striking scene in the Beacon's restaurant this evening, especially with their illustrious guest joining them.
"Come in," she said and closed the door behind Natalia. She took another moment to look over the other woman.
"Am I acceptable?" Natalia asked with a smirk.
Olivia nodded. "You'll do, but you need something…a bauble." She went over to her jewelry box and rummaged through it until she found a string of fresh water pearls interspersed with gold beads. "Here, this will compliment the gown and show off your décolletage."
"All right," Natalia said as she fastened the necklace on herself.
After a final look at Natalia's appearance, Olivia said, "Emma wishes to say good night to you."
"Of course," Natalia agreed.
Olivia followed her to Emma's room and paused in the doorway. Her daughter was already dressed in her night shift.
"Miss Natalia!" Emma jumped up and threw her book on her bed. "Thank you for coming to see me."
"De nada, niña," Natalia said with a smile. "What are you reading?"
"Mr. Twain's story, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County," Emma answered.
"Oh, that's one of my favorites," Natalia said. "Did he sign it for you?"
Emma nodded eagerly. "He did," she answered. "I like the story, but it's a little hard to read because the narrator talks funny."
"That he does," Natalia said. "But that's one reason why Mr. Twain's work is so well-loved."
Emma nodded. "I'm glad he's here."
"Me too, sweetie," Natalia said, tickling Emma's tummy and making the girl giggle. "But you need to get to sleep and your mother and I have our dinner, so we'll say good night. All right?"
"Good night, Miss Natalia," Emma said and Natalia leaned down to kiss her head.
"Buenas noches, Emma," she said. "Sleep well."
Olivia moved forward to help Emma get into bed and pulled the quilt up to cover her. She leaned down to kiss her daughter. "Good night, my darling girl," she said.
"Good night, Mother," Emma said and closed her eyes.
Olivia smoothed her hand over Emma's hair and then turned down the lamp before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her. She said to the governess, "Please stay with her until I return, Jane."
"Of course, ma'am," Jane said, nodding her head.
Olivia looked at Natalia. "Ready?" The other woman nodded and Olivia said, "Then let's go."
The room she shared with Jane was an odd amalgamation of their differing styles and personalities, Joanie Stubbs thought as she took a final glance in the mirror to check her appearance. Most of the space was decorated to suit her own expensive tastes. Gold-trimmed cushions adorned the horsehair settee and complimented the velvet wallpaper. The ornate wardrobe with the large matching chest contained her gowns and possessions. A reproduction of Gustav Courbet's Le Sommeil in a gilded frame that still caused Jane to blush whenever she looked at it, hung on the wall over the bed. Joanie's love of beautiful things was reflected in her belongings.
On the other hand, in the one corner of the room that Jane had claimed as her own was a rough-hewn crate liberated from Utter's freight office to store clothing and other odds and ends. A half-full bottle of whiskey and Jane's bullwhip rested on top of it and her shotgun leaned against it. Jane's spare hat hung from a nail she had pounded into the wall, much to Joanie's exasperation. Jane's most prized possession, Wild Bill Hickok's buffalo robe bequeathed to them by Charlie Utter, covered the bed. Joanie was quite fond of the object, not because of its previous owner, whom she had only met once before he was murdered and knew him to be a gentleman, but because Jane always left it behind when she went off on her drunken binges, sometimes being gone for months at a time. Jane leaving the robe with her let Joanie know that Jane would always come back.
Satisfied with her appearance, Joanie left the room and paused on the second floor balcony to observe her operation. Eschewing the high end elegance of her first failed venture, Boston West was decorated in a simple, but sturdy style. A long bar made of dark-stained walnut ran most of the length of the interior with padded stools in front. Rather than a mirror behind the bar, shelves filled with bottles of liquor lined the wall. The windows were covered with heavy drapes that let in little light and the atmosphere inside was dim. Boston West's patrons preferred privacy and discretion and Joanie was more than willing to give it to them.
This early in the evening, the place was sparsely populated, but Joanie knew that it would fill up as the night moved on. Becca the bartender was standing behind the bar and chatting with a customer. Janine, one of the three girls who had formerly worked at the Bella Union, but now worked for Joanie, was dealing cards for three women players at one of the tables. Joanie was pleased to see a large pile of chips littering the top, which meant the house's cut would be considerable.
She didn't see any sign of Lila or Tess, the other girls who had 'retired' from the Bella Union and Joanie wondered if they were with tricks or in town. Joanie didn't take as large a percentage from the working girls as the pimps and madams did at the other houses, but even so her income from the transactions was considerably high, which was the main benefit of dealing with a specialist clientele.
Jane Cannary, the person she wanted to see the most, was eating her supper at one of the tables and Joanie walked down the stairs to join her.
"Hello, hello, Miss Stubbs," Jane greeted her with that smile that always warmed Joanie's heart.
"Hello yourself," she answered sitting down. "What's for supper?"
"Elk steak, if you will," Jane answered and tucked a large chunk in her mouth.
"Get him yourself?" she asked as she signaled to Becca to bring her a plate.
Jane nodded, and then swallowed audibly. "Got the bastard on the western ridge near the Whitewood Creek," she answered. "Kept the loin for us and sold the rest to that cocksucking Chink Wu." Joanie could hear the pride in Jane's voice.
"Good job," she said with a smile and Jane beamed with pleasure.
Becca came to the table carrying a tray. She put a plate full of food in front of Joanie along with utensils and a large mug of cold beer. "Thank you, Becca."
The woman nodded and returned to the bar. Joanie cut a much smaller bite of steak than Jane's and tasted it. The meat was tender and succulent. "Mmm, this is delicious, Jane. Thank you."
"Nothing tastes better than late season game you've kilt yourself," Jane agreed, cutting another hunk.
"I had your good set of buckskins sent over to be cleaned today," Jane remarked as they continued to eat. "They should be back by tomorrow."
"Why'd you do that?" Jane asked. "Did I fucking shit myself again?"
"No," she answered with a laugh. "It's for the dinner party tomorrow night over to the Beacon."
"Is it time for that already?" Jane asked.
"Sure is," she said with a nod. "I'm excited about it, ain't you?"
Jane shrugged. "Don't see what all the fucking excitement's about," she said. "So the cocksucker wrote some books. I could write a fucking book if I fucking wanted to."
"Why don't you, Jane?" Joanie asked. "You could write about your life."
Jane leaned back in her chair and looked at her. "Who the fuck would want to read a book about a fucking inebriated drunk like me?"
"Why, I'm sure lots of folks, Jane," she said.
"I highly fucking doubt that," Jane said, sawing at her steak. "Why the buckskins, though? Don't you usually nag me until I wear a fucking dress for these cocksucking high-fucking society dinners?"
"Normally," Joanie agreed, knowing Jane would always concede to her requests after much grumbling. "But I spoke with Natalia and she said Mr. Twain would most likely appreciate a little Deadwood color."
"Color?" Jane said and Joanie guessed what was coming next. "How about I fart during the soup course and they can call it fucking flavor enhancement? How's that for fucking color?"
Joanie laughed and shook her head. "Anyway, I like you in your buckskins, Jane," she said and Jane blushed at the compliment.
More patrons had arrived by the time the women finished their meal. Jane cleared their table while Joanie went to check on the progress of the card game, then went to speak with Tess who had arrived while she and Jane were eating.
"Got anything lined up tonight, Tess?" she asked.
"I'm expecting a couple of gals to drop by later," Tess said. "Then Laney said she'll probably be by around midnight. That's when her husband usually passes out drunk and is down for the night."
Joanie laughed. "Well, you have fun then. Seen Mose around?"
"Saw him lurking about outside when I came in," the redhead answered.
"How about Lila?"
"Sleeping. She has a date tonight with She Who Must Not Be Named," Tess said.
"Oh God, let's hope the fucking hat doesn't scare away any customers," Joanie said and rolled her eyes. Lila's regular trick was a woman who liked to pretend she didn't exist and that no one saw her when she came to the saloon, hence the elaborate hats to hide her appearance. However, she also paid top dollar for the privilege, so everyone at Boston West indulged her. Lila always took a nap before since the woman kept her busy all night long.
Back at the bar, Jane was drinking a whiskey and eyeing the room. Becca poured Joanie a drink just as Eddie Sawyer came in. Joanie smiled as he approached.
"Eddie Sawyer," she said.
"Hey, honey," he replied then said to Jane. "Hi Jane."
Jane tipped her hat to him.
"Got a date tonight, Eddie?" Joanie asked.
"Sure do, honey," he answered. "She's getting dressed."
Joanie nodded. She kept a special room with an unmarked door to the outside where clients could enter and exit with anonymity, often with a drastic change in their appearance. A Chinese woman served as a dresser. "Things all right over to the Union?"
"Business as usual," Eddie answered and he looked around. Someone dressed in an elaborate gown had just entered, looked around and then headed for a table where a lone woman sat nursing a drink. The two women embraced. "Things look good here."
"They are, thanks for noting," Joanie said.
"Are you going to Twain's lecture tomorrow evening?" Eddie asked.
"Yeah, and the fucking dinner for the cocksucker after," Jane said.
Eddie smiled. "Good, so am I," he said. The door to the special room opened and a figure dressed in a gown as elegant as the other woman entered the saloon. Jane gave a snort and Joanie recognized under the makeup the concierge from the Beacon Hotel. "Well, I see my date's ready. Have a pleasant evening, ladies," Eddie said, taking his leave.
"You too, Eddie. See you tomorrow." Joanie said and Jane simply gave a wave.
After Eddie left, Jane shook her head and said, "As long as I fucking live, I will never get used to the sight of a cocksucker dressed in a woman's gown sporting a mustache."
Joanie laughed in delight. "Look who's talking, Miss I Want to Suck Your Cock."
"Ha!" Jane said and stuck out her jaw proudly. "Yeah, that fucking Finland fella with his Finland accent or whatever the fuck it was sure was sweet on me. Almost felt badly I didn't have a cock for him to suck on."
Joanie gave her an appraising look. "You know, I'm feeling kinda tired this evening. I'm thinking maybe I will let Becca handle things here and head for bed."
Jane looked at her. "Yeah, you know, I'm feeling on the fucking weary side myself."
Joanie smiled at Jane's resulting blush.
"And that, my dears, is how in the space of a single day, I was given the keys to the fair city of Hamburg and then run out of town," Samuel Clemens concluded, then sat back to puff on a cheroot with a satisfied smirk.
Natalia joined Olivia in laughing at the ribald tale of their guest's adventures abroad.
"I do hope you'll tell that story at your lectures, Mr. Clemens," Olivia said, wiping her eyes.
"To be sure, I shall, Miss Spencer," he said. "It suits nicely with my just published travelogue and such yarns, I have observed, invariably increase book sales."
"Are there any new novels on the horizon, Mr. Clemens?" Natalia asked.
Olivia glanced at her assistant. Natalia had proven to be a pleasant dinner companion, her wit and intelligence adding delight to the conversation throughout their meal. Now, as they relaxed with tea and sherry, Natalia seemed at ease and Olivia almost found it incredible that only mere weeks ago, she had been a chambermaid.
"Oh yes," Clemens answered. "One in a similar vein as my Tom Sawyer, only with a somewhat more serious tone in theme."
"Indeed?" Natalia asked. "I found young Tom's adventures to be exactly the sort my son often dreamed of as a boy."
"And a boy's imagination should be full of many such dreams, Miss Rivera," Clemens said. "However, there comes a time in every boy's life when reality overshadows those dreams and the boy must become a man. In the case of my protagonist, he must choose between what he knows in his heart is right and what society itself has stated is right. Standing against the majority is a daunting task and one not easily overcome."
"It sounds intriguing, sir, and I look forward to reading it," Natalia said and took a sip of her drink.
"My daughter just remarked earlier this evening of the challenge reading your jumping frog story in the vernacular," Olivia said. "How do you manage to capture your character's voices so accurately, Mr. Clemens?"
"By listening, my dear," he replied. "I have long been a student of the art of human observation and I take special note of not only what people say, but how they say it. For example, I can tell that despite your excellent American accent, your origins are not from this great nation, but rather you hale from a small Caribbean island, a British colony I suspect."
"Close," Olivia said with a smile. "I'm from San Cristobel, which was founded by Duke Reginald Winslow in 1650 and cut its ties from Britain in 1723 to become an independent monarchy."
Clemens laughed, obviously at his own cleverness, then turned to Natalia. "And you, my dear, were born on U.S. soil, most likely in the Midwest, but the lilt in your voice and, dare I say, the lovely hue to your skin indicates a Spanish heritage, also from an island source."
"Very good, Mr. Clemens," Natalia said. "And you are quite correct. I was born in Chicago, but my parents emigrated from Puerto Rico. Originally our family was from Barcelona."
"Chicago, eh?" Clemens asked. "Are you any relation to Florencio Rivera of the Midwest Meat Processing and Packing Company?"
Natalia nodded. "My father," she stated in a tone that caused Olivia to look at her sharply. Natalia's face was guarded.
"I've met him on several occasions," Clemens said and Olivia suspected he hadn't noticed Natalia's change of mood."Charming man," he continued as he pulled out another cheroot from his case. "I was sorry to hear of the death of your mother last year, my dear. May I offer my condolences?"
Olivia watched as Natalia's face grew pale. "Thank you," she whispered and reached to push the box of matches lying on the table toward Clemens.
"Are you sure you won't have one of my Piedras?" Olivia asked to move the conversation to another topic.
Clemens huffed as he lit up. "No, thank you, Miss Spencer," he said. "My preference is not to smoke any cigar that costs more than five cents. Now, should you have occasion to visit me in Hartford, why I should be glad to let you have all you want from the stock of Cubans and Dominicans gifted to me over the years. I remain perfectly content with these." He clamped the slim black cigar between his teeth and pulled deeply on it making the end glow.
Olivia shook her head with a chuckle and then glanced at Natalia, who was staring across the dining room with a worried look. Following her gaze, Olivia felt a stab of anger as she saw Alan Spaulding striding toward them.
"Good evening, Olivia," he said when he reached them. He looked down at Natalia. "Why, Natalia, what a surprise to see you out socializing while your fiancé is out of town. Does Gus know you're entertaining men while he's away? I certainly expect it of Olivia, but not you, my dear."
Before either of them could respond, Clemens stood up and offered his hand to Alan. "Samuel Clemens, sir, at your service," he said.
Alan looked at him warily, then shook the proffered hand. "Alan Spaulding, of Spaulding Enterprises." Olivia was not surprised Alan had no idea who Clemens was.
"A pleasure, sir," Clemens replied. "Miss Spencer and Miss Rivera were kind enough to provide me with their pleasant company during my supper."
"I see," Alan said then turned to Olivia. "May I see my granddaughter?"
Olivia blinked at his rudeness. "She's sleeping, Alan," she answered.
"I see," he said again. "You're right, it's getting late. Perhaps I can have a room for the night, then I can see her in the morning?"
"Sorry, Alan," Natalia spoke up, startling Olivia. "We're full up."
"We?" Alan asked. "Tell me, Natalia, how comes a chambermaid privy to the vacancy status of the hotel?"
"Natalia's no longer a maid, Alan," Olivia answered. "She's working as my assistant now."
"Assistant?" Alan's eyebrows rose. "Quite a feat, I imagine. How did you manage that, Natalia? By getting…closer to your employer?"
"That's enough, Alan," Olivia said, annoyed. "Like she said, we're full up. Go see if there's any room at the Grand Central, but thanks to Mr. Clemens's visit, I'm sure there's not a room free anywhere in Deadwood tonight."
"Oh?" Alan turned back to Clemens. "And how does your presence elicit such a phenomenon, sir?"
"It's been my humble experience, Mr. Spaulding, to find that folks seem to enjoy reading and hearing my words," Clemens answered.
"A writer, eh?" Alan said and smoothed his beard. "Intriguing. Since I am, like our lord and savior, denied room at the inn, would you care to join me for a drink and maybe some cards at the Bella Union?"
"Cards?" Clemens said. "Why, I haven't had occasion to play cards since I don't know when. In fact, I don't even know if I remember how."
"Really?" Alan said with a look in his eye that Olivia was quite familiar with. "I'm sure I can reacquaint you with the process. Shall we?"
Clemens turned to Olivia. "Do you mind, my dear lady?"
"Not at all, Mr. Clemens," she said. "Natalia and I are looking forward to hearing you speak tomorrow."
"I look forward to entertaining you ladies, then," he said and placed his hat on his head. "Come, Mr. Spaulding. Let's see if you can teach me a thing or two about cards."
Olivia watched as the two men left the room, Clemens chattering away at Alan and acting the fool. She turned to Natalia and said, "Something tells me Alan is about to get the fleecing of his life."
Natalia smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing," she said.
Olivia looked at her and then asked softly. "You didn't know, did you?"
"What?" Natalia turned to her.
"About the passing of your mother?" Olivia clarified.
Natalia shook her head. "No, I didn't know," she said. "I was able to hear news of my family through the society pages and such when I lived in Chicago, but since moving here, I haven't heard anything until now."
"I'm sorry," Olivia said. She knew all too well the pain of losing a mother, even one she was estranged from.
"Thank you," Natalia said and looked down at her hands. "I received a telegram from Mr. Aitoro today. He and Rafe are at Fort Pierre and will be home in a few days. He had some business to take care of there."
"Good," Olivia said shortly, strangely feeling annoyance rather than gladness at Gus's imminent arrival. With his return, she could proceed with her campaign of stealing him away from the woman sitting beside her. "Stay here tonight," she said standing up. "I don't have anyone to fucking spare to see you safely home. I'll see you in the morning." Before Natalia could protest, Olivia strode quickly from the dining room and headed for her suite.
The Beacon's large ballroom was packed with people, almost literally to the rafters as the crowd had taken over the second floor balcony and every inch of standing room was filled. Natalia looked around the room from her vantage point near the raised dais where Samuel Clemens was entertaining the residents of Deadwood and those from the surrounding communities who had traveled to see him. She caught the eye of Olivia, who was sitting in the front with Alma Ellsworth and the Bullocks. Olivia raised her eyebrow with a smirk and then turned her attention back to Clemens. Natalia smiled, knowing that Olivia was well pleased with the event.
Clemens had been speaking for over two hours and the large room was growing warmer from the combined body heat of the crowd and the lamps. Natalia could see a bead of perspiration roll down Clemens's face. Both he and the crowd ignored the conditions and the people burst out in laughter yet again. Natalia's stomach grumbled and she wondered if they would ever get to the elaborate dinner waiting for them as it seemed Clemens was content to speak all night.
"A rousing success, my good lady," Jack Langrishe said in her ear over the roar of the crowd. The theater owner had warmed up the audience with his amusing introduction of the famous author.
"I'd say that is a valid assessment, Mr. Langrishe," she replied, giving him a smile.
It was, too, Natalia thought. Advance ticket sales had sold out early for both tonight's and tomorrow's lectures and the revenue from the standees had bumped the profit up considerably. Natalia felt proud of herself and was delighted to find she liked working as Olivia's assistant, even though the volatile woman remained a challenge.
She did, however, miss Nicky and, especially, her son. This trip with his father marked the longest they had been separated since his birth. She had encouraged Nicky to take Rafe with him in the hopes of them growing closer and of Nicky exerting a positive influence on their son. Natalia had been growing increasingly worried about Rafe's shady activities and hoped Nicky would put a stop to it before the boy got in trouble. She understood her son well enough to know such restraint would be better received from his father than from her.
Clemens was wrapping up his remarks, Natalia was grateful to see and as the man took a deep bow, the audience erupted in applause, those who had seats rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Natalia joined in the applause, wincing from Langrishe's high pitched whistles. Clemens walked off the dais to her and Natalia opened the door that led to the back service area with Langrishe following them.
"Won't you take your curtain call, Mr. Clemens?" he asked the author.
"I shall leave those to you thespians, Mr. Langrishe," Clemens answered. "Always leave them wanting more, I say and hopefully they are ready to eagerly part with their gold in exchange for books."
"Gregory has set up a table in the lobby for you to sign books, Mr. Clemens," Natalia said. "He will assist you. Then if you will care to join Miss Spencer and her other guests in the private dining room, I shall be much obliged."
"Excellent, Miss Rivera," the author replied. "Please inform Miss Spencer I shall endeavor to make quick work of my sales."
"Thank you, sir," Natalia said.
"Allow me to be your first customer, Mr. Clemens," Langrishe said, clapping the author on the back.
Natalia watched them leave, then she headed to the kitchen to check on the progress of the dinner. The chef and his assistants were busy at work and the room was filled with a marvelous aroma that caused Natalia's mouth to water. Jewel, dressed in a Beacon uniform and ready to assist with the service, was waiting as Natalia had earlier asked her to. Natalia could tell her friend was nearly bubbling with excitement.
"The guests should be starting to arrive in the dining room, Jewel," Natalia said picking up a knife to slice herself a bit of Gruyère. "If you could make sure the appetizer plates are kept full until Mr. Twain is done with his signing, I would appreciate it."
"I will be glad to," the woman said and shuffled off to the dining room.
Natalia nibbled on the cheese, the creamy morsel barely making a dent in her hunger. She gave some final instructions to the cooks and other waiters she had hired for the evening, and then headed to the water closet to check her appearance to make sure she was presentable for the rest of the evening.
Al Swearengen glanced up over his glasses as another customer walked through the door, followed by a nicely dressed Trixie, who pushed the man out of her way. He watched as she slammed her hand down on the bar in demand of a drink. Dan returned her scowl with a frown as he poured her a shot. Trixie slammed back the shot and then grabbed the bottle out of Dan's hand and brought it and her glass over to Swearengen's table.
Swearengen watched as she slammed back another shot, then he looked at his newspaper again. "No domestic bliss tonight?" he asked.
"Fucking Jew is at the fucking hotel with the rest of fucking cocksuckers dining with the great man himself," Trixie answered with much sarcasm in her voice.
"I couldn't help but notice the higher quality of your frock this evening, so I'm assuming you went to hear said cocksucker speak?" he asked.
"I did," she answered and Swearengen could see she was starting to relax finally. "Star parted with some of his fucking precious funds for a seat for me."
"Did he sit with you?" Swearengen said looking at her.
"Yeah, he did, the fucking lunatic that he is," she said with a fond smile.
"Then be content with the honor he showed you," he said and looked at his paper again. "As for your own fucking repast, if you want, you'll have to make it yourself as the fucking gimp is working at the Beacon tonight."
"Kind of you to let her earn some extra money," Trixie commented.
Swearengen huffed as he adjusted the paper to easily read another article. "Keeps me from having to listen to the fucking squeak, squeak, squeak of that goddamned brace that cocksucker Cochran built for her."
Trixie lit a cigarette and gave it a deep pull. "I miss the Doc," she said after blowing out the smoke.
"Fucking cocksucker couldn't follow simple orders and had to go and die on me," Swearengen said with another huff. Although he would never admit it, he also missed the old curmudgeonly doctor who had passed from consumption the previous winter.
"Ain't always up to you who fucking lives and who fucking dies, Al," Trixie said and refilled her glass. "Bauer's all right, I suppose. Dolly says he's good to the whores."
"Dolly thinks any cocksucker who doesn't kick her ass on a weekly basis is a gentleman," he said.
Trixie snorted and said, "Then that fucking leaves you out, Al."
Swearengen hid his smirk behind the paper.
They sat in companionable silence for a while as Trixie smoked and drank and Swearengen read his paper and kept an eye on the comings and goings of the hoopleheads looking for whiskey or pussy. Now that the event at Liv's hotel was finished, The Gem was starting to do a brisk business with all the extra traffic that had come to see it.
"How was his lecture?" he asked. "Twain's, I mean."
Trixie shrugged. "Fine, I suppose," she answered. "I don't have much fucking experience with such and all."
"You will have more opportunity if the Jew keeps taking you to those kinds of events," he said.
"I earn my own fucking wage that is totally fucking independent of any fucking thing I get from him," she said, her eyes flashing angrily. "I don't need any fucking cocksucker to pay my fucking way."
"No offense intended," Swearengen said. He considered giving her a good smack across the face just to remind her of her place, but he was in a mellow mood tonight. He was enjoying her company since these days she spent most of her time with the mayor and Swearengen didn't want her storming off in a snit.
Trixie sniffed. "None taken," she said with a shrug. After a bit, she commented, "I'll tell you though, the cocksucker is highly entertainin'. He had that audience eating out of the palm of his hand as he told a fucking funny story about bilking a mark at the Bella last night."
"He say who the mark was?" Swearengen asked.
"Nope, but talk afterwards said it was that cocksucking Spaulding patriarch," she answered as she turned her head to the side and spit out a bit of tobacco.
"Now that is something I would have liked to fucking see," Swearengen commented. Spaulding's reputation for being a killer at poker was widely known.
"I'm sure it was a fuckin' sight to see," Trixie agreed. ""Especially if it went down the way Twain said it did."
"Those who make their living with the pen tend toward embellishment and hyperbole," he said. "Merrick being a fucking case in point."
Trixie made a sound that Swearengen took for amusement. After a few moments, she pushed to her feet and said, "Think I will get something to fuckin' eat. Want anythin'?"
"Before she dragged that fucking brace out of here, the gimp mentioned there is a cold roast pig in the icebox," Swearengen said, glancing at her over the paper. "A sandwich of that might hit the fucking spot."
Trixie nodded and gave him pat on the shoulder as she walked past him. Swearengen hid another smile behind his newspaper.
As the uniformed waiter wheeled in the cart so the chef could prepare the Canard à la Rouennaise, Olivia smiled inwardly. She was happy the dinner party was going so well. While the chef began to prepare the duck, she looked around the large table from her spot at the head. To her left sat the guest of honor. He was chatting charmingly with Martha Bullock. Across from Clemens and to her right was her assistant, who was speaking quietly with Sheriff Bullock. Next to him sat Jane Cannary. The loud frontierswoman was constantly making comments to Joanie Stubbs, so many that Deputy Utter, who was sitting between the two women, had to lean back and forth in order to maintain his own conversation with Mayor Star and Doc Bauer who were across from him and Jane.
Olivia was amused to see Vanessa Lewis carrying on a lively conversation with Eddie Sawyer. Eddie might be a con artist and pimp, but it was just an indication of his personality that he could easily charm the wealthy socialite. That he had cleaned up the Bella Union after taking it over, also added to his reputation.
Looking further down the table, Olivia saw that, as she had expected, Doris Wolfe was expounding on the need for more temperance and morality in Deadwood to Reverend Lewis. Her ex-husband had a pained expression on his face, although she knew anyone else would interpret it as polite. Josh was being the perfect gentleman and nodding at all the right places, but Olivia could tell that Josh would simply ignore most of Mrs. Wolfe's suggestions. Why the woman had chosen Deadwood to relocate to from her former home in Philadelphia, Olivia could not fathom, but the woman possessed wealth and political clout, which had made her a fixture in the town's society. However, to most of the business owners, the founder of the local chapter of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union was a royal pain in the ass.
Across from Doris was Alma Ellsworth who was speaking with Vanessa's husband Billy. Even from her spot at the opposite end of the table, Olivia could hear Billy's side of the conversation as the big man described the Lewis family holdings in Oklahoma. Opposite her former brother-in-law, was the newspaperman Merrick. Olivia had purposefully instructed Natalia to seat him at the extreme opposite from Clemens and a smirk played across Olivia's face as she watched Merrick's frustration at being unable to eavesdrop on the conversations going on at the head of the table. Occasionally, Merrick would give Billy Lewis a thunderous glare when the big Oklahoman got loud enough to drown out even the guests at that end of the table.
Glancing to her left, she saw that Natalia was watching her, an amused smirk on her lips. She gave her assistant an unapologetic shrug and then turned her attention to the duck preparations. The sound of the breaking bones in the presse à canard drew everyone's attention to the chef.
"Magnificent contraption, Miss Spencer," Clemens said. "I have only had occasion to see such in France. How did you manage to acquire one?"
"I assure you it was neither easy nor inexpensive, Mr. Clemens," she answered. "The short of the tale is that my chef made the journey to his home in Rouen and returned with one for our hotel in Illinois. He refuses to divulge any details on how exactly he did so. When we moved west to Deadwood, of course we brought it with us. I believe it is the only such device in the territory."
The chef added the finishing touches to the blood sauce and then lovingly spooned it over the breast portions on each plate. The waiter hurried to serve the guests. Everyone waited until all had been served and then eagerly cut into the tender flesh. Olivia savored her first bite, the succulent meat enhanced by the strong sauce. They didn't often serve the dish at the Beacon, so it was always a treat.
"Wonderful," Natalia murmured from beside her.
Olivia smiled at the look of pleasure on her assistant's face. She said to the chef, "C'est délicieux, Chef."
"Merci, madame," he said with a bow and then left.
"Where did you find your chef, Miss Spencer?" Martha Bullock asked.
"I stole him from the palace kitchen on San Cristobel," she answered with a smirk as she cut another morsel. "Prince Winslow was none too happy about losing his prized French chef, I can tell you that."
"How fortunate you did not cause an international incident," Clemens remarked. "I have heard the Winslows can be quite…prickly at times."
Olivia laughed. "Prickly is an understatement, Mr. Clemens," she said. "They can be downright vicious if I say so myself. Fortunately, I have managed to keep one step ahead of them so far."
The conversation continued to flow easily and Olivia was enjoying herself immensely as were, she felt, her guests. However, that changed halfway through the dessert course when her concierge came in to the room.
Leaning down, Gregory whispered in her ear, "Miss Spencer, Deputies Cooper and Boudreau are here and need to speak with the sheriff."
Olivia glanced at Bullock whose sharp eyes were fixed on hers. "And this can't wait until after dinner, Gregory?"
"No, ma'am," he answered. "I had to stop them from barging in here as it was."
Olivia nodded and stood up. "Excuse me, please," she said as all the men rose to their feet. "There is something that requires my immediate attention. Please continue and I'll return shortly. Sheriff?"
Bullock nodded and followed her out of the room, trailed by Gregory. Outside, the two deputies were fidgeting.
"What's so important you had to interrupt my event, Frank?" she asked.
The deputy ignored her and handed the sheriff a piece of paper. "I have an arrest warrant, Sheriff," Frank said.
"For whom?" she demanded.
Once again, Frank ignored her, but Bullock answered instead. "Mr. Clemens."
"What the fuck?" she asked, her eyes flashing at Frank.
"What's happening?" Olivia turned to see Natalia by her side.
"These two idiots want to arrest Mark Fucking Twain," she exclaimed, waving her hand at the two deputies.
"What?" Natalia asked, her face whitening.
"Judge Russo has issued a bench warrant ordering us to search Mr. Clemens's room and seize any stolen property found. Upon such findings, we are to arrest him for theft," Bullock said.
"Stolen property? And how the fuck does that cocksucker know there's stolen property in Clemens's room?" Olivia asked, then turned to Natalia. "Go get him." To Gregory, she ordered, "Go clear the floor his suite is on. I don't want anyone seeing this."
The concierge nodded and hurried off to do her bidding. A moment later, Natalia returned with the author in tow.
"Is there a problem, Sheriff?" Clemens asked.
Bullock handed him the paper and Clemens scanned it. "An 'anonymous tip' this reads," he said. "Tell me Sheriff, does this judge have any special relationship with local persons of wealth?"
Olivia spat out, "That cocksucker Alan Spaulding, him that you outwitted last evening, owns Russo lock, stock and barrel."
"Indeed, good lady," Clemens said, giving her an amused look. He turned back to Bullock. "Then Sheriff, I dare say, it is a foregone conclusion that you will most certainly find said property in the lovely suite Miss Spencer has kindly assigned to me."
Bullock sighed deeply, then said to Frank, "You two wait here." He motioned for the others to follow, then led the way up the stairs.
Gregory was waiting in the empty hallway outside of Clemens's suite.
"Have you been inside?" Bullock asked.
"No, sir."
"Good," Bullock said and squatted down to examine the door's lock at eye level.
"Anything?" Olivia asked.
"Scratches," Bullock said. "Could mean the lock was pried, but it also could be caused by normal wear."
"Not in my fucking hotel," she exclaimed. ""Everything has to be perfect every single day."
Bullock gave her an amused glance and tried the door handle. It was locked. He motioned to Gregory who stepped forward and used his master key to unlock the door.
"Who has keys to this room?" he asked as he stepped inside.
Natalia answered him. "Gregory, Olivia, myself and of course, Mr. Clemens."
There was nothing unusual in the outer room of the suite. Inside the bedroom, all also appeared normal until Bullock opened up the clothing wardrobe. Piled on the bottom was a variety of goods including fine linens from the hotel, china, jewels, men's and women's clothing and cash wallets.
"God damn it," Olivia swore.
"Well," Clemens said, lighting up a cheroot. "It appears I am guilty as charged."
Olivia rolled her eyes at him. "This is not a joking matter, sir."
"Indeed, it is not, Miss Spencer," Clemens said, his tone finally serious. "Someone has gone to quite a bit of effort to embarrass you and for that I am deeply sorry."
"You're sorry?" Olivia said, incredulously. "You are the one who has been accused."
"A minor technicality, I'm sure," he said."I trust in the good sheriff's ability as an investigator to quickly clear me of any wrongdoing. This cache of goods was clearly stolen from you and your other guests probably within the last several hours and since I have not been out of sight of you, dear Miss Rivera and Sheriff Bullock himself, I could not have been the culprit. However, the stain on your reputation as a fine and upstanding hotelier is, I suspect, the main target of this dastardly fabrication, rather than any revenge for my skill at cards, I suspect."
"Mr. Clemens is almost certainly correct, Miss Spencer," Bullock said. "Judge Russo has repeatedly demonstrated in the past he cannot be bothered to exert himself in any capacity unless his effort netted him a profit and his main source of that has proven time and again to be Alan Spaulding. This was most likely an attack against you. Mr. Clemens's role was merely an extra bonus for embarrassing Spaulding at the table."
"And what a fine pleasure that was, sir," Clemens said proudly. "Hindsight being what it is, I only wish I had doubled my efforts."
Olivia sighed and glanced at Natalia.
"I'll get with Gregory and we'll start speaking with the guests," her assistant said. "If we can explain this was merely a misguided prank and not a real theft, then perhaps we can avoid any anger."
"Good idea," Olivia said gratefully, knowing that Natalia will easily charm any guest who took offense. "Offer them what you need to in order to smooth any ruffled feathers."
Natalia nodded and quickly left. Olivia turned to Bullock. "What about the arrest warrant?" she asked.
Bullock sighed. "Unfortunately, I will have to take Mr. Clemens into custody until this is cleared up."
"Mr. Clemens, while I appreciate your kind words, I can't help but regret this inconvenience is causing you," she said.
"Nonsense, my dear," he said, giving her a warm smile. "This will not be the first night I have spent in jail, and I dare say it shall certainly not be the last."
Olivia shook her head at his attitude, a smile finally gracing her lips. "I will go make your regrets to our other dinner guests, sir," she said and then turned to Bullock. "Make sure nothing happens to him," she said sternly. "I wouldn't put it past that cocksucker Alan to make another attempt to attack him."
"No ma'am," Bullock said. "I promise you that Mr. Clemens will be safe while in our custody."
"Thank you, Sheriff," she said and they all headed off to try to clean up this disaster.
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