The Gamble (I) (26 page)

Somebody knocked on the door. “Hello. It’s us.” Pearl and Ruby came in without waiting for permission. “We heard the bad news. Don’t you worry now. It’ll probably never happen again.”

They came in turns to press their cheeks to Agatha’s and wish her good-night.

“If Jube gets t’ snorin’, y’all come in with me.”

When they were gone, another knock sounded.

“Yes?” Jube called.

“It’s Jack and Ivory.”

“Well, come on in—everybody else has.”

Agatha scarcely had time to draw the bedclothes to her neck before the two appeared.

“You calmed down now, Miss Downing?” Jack asked.

“Yes, thank you. Jube brushed my hair and it made me forget all my troubles.”

“Jube’s good with a brush, that’s for sure,” remarked Ivory.

Jube had brushed
Ivory’s
hair? Before she had time to imagine such a sight, he said, “Well, g’night, Miz Downin’. See y’all in the mornin’.”

“Good night, Ivory.”

“’Night, then,” Jack added.

“Good night, Jack.”

Just before the door closed Jack stuck his head back in. “Here comes somebody else.”

He disappeared and Marcus came to take his place, bearing a steaming cup. His smile told Agatha it was for her.

“Oh, Marcus, how thoughtful.” She reached for the cup. “Mmm... tea. Thank you, Marcus. It’s exactly what I need.”

He beamed, then made motions as if stirring in sugar and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“No, thank you. Without is fine.” She sipped and nodded approvingly. “Perfect.”

He folded his hands beneath one ear and closed his eyes, as if sleeping.

“Yes, I’ll sleep wonderfully after this. Thank you again, Marcus.”

At the door he waved. She waved back. The door closed behind him.

Agatha’s heart felt full to bursting, warmed by so much more than the tea. She wondered if perhaps she had stated her wish too quickly; perhaps what she wanted more than anything else was to keep this feeling forever, this wondrous familial feeling.

In companionable silence, she sipped and Jubilee smoked.

After some time Agatha remarked, “How thoughtful of Marcus.”

Jube’s face softened. She stopped puffing and watched the smoke rise. “He’s sweet, isn’t he? He’s always doing something kind for someone. Marcus is about the kindest man I’ve ever known. Whenever I’m sick he brings me tea with honey and brandy. And once he gave me a back rub. That was heavenly.”

“It bothered me at first that he couldn’t talk,” Agatha confided, “but I soon found out he can get his point across better than most people with voices.”

“That’s for sure. Sometimes I wish...” A wistful expression crossed Jube’s face. Then she exhaled a cloud of smoke and murmured, “Oh, nothing.”

“Tell me... you wish what?”

“Oh...” She shrugged and admitted sheepishly, “That he wasn’t so shy.”

“Why, Jubilee!” Agatha’s eyebrows rose. “Do you have... feelings for Marcus? I mean, special feelings?”

“I guess I do. But how is a girl supposed to know when the man never makes a move toward her?”

“You’re asking me?” Agatha spread a hand on her chest and laughed.

“Well, you’re a girl, too, aren’t you?”

“Hardly. I’m thirty-five years old. I no longer qualify.”

“But you know what I mean. Sometimes Marcus looks at me... well, you know. Different. And just when I think he’s going to—”

A knock sounded.

“Everybody decent?” came Candy’s voice.

Jube whispered to Agatha, “We’ll talk more later.” Then she raised her voice. “More than decent. Come in.”

The door swung in slowly and Gandy leaned against the frame with his necktie loose and his jacket slung from one finger over a shoulder. He spoke to Jube but looked at Agatha.

“So, you got her all settled in, I see.”

“Sure did. She’s feeling much better now.”

“She looks better.” He brought his shoulder away from the doorframe and ambled inside, dropping his jacket across Agatha’s feet. “You looked like a ghost when you came downstairs lookin’ for me, did you know that?” He reached for her empty cup. “Here, I’ll take that.” He set it aside, then sat at her hip with one hand braced on her far side. “But your color is back.”

She tried to tug the bedcovers higher, but his weight pinned them low. Her cheeks grew rosy-bright above the pristine white of her high-necked nightgown. And her hair was glorious, flowing free in rich, thick waves, catching the lantern light and tossing it back in highlights nearly the color of burgundy wine. He took a moment to let his eyes wander over it appreciatively before returning his gaze to her translucent green eyes. They were captivating eyes, unlike any he’d seen before, as pale as seawater. They had begun bothering him in bed at night, keeping him awake, as if she were in the room watching him. An unexpected stirring brought warmth to his chest as their gazes remained locked and his hip pulled the blankets down from her breasts.

“M... Marcus brought me the tea,” she stammered, flustered by his nearness, by the fact that she was clad only in a
nightgown, and could feel his body warmth against her hip. “And Jubilee brushed my hair.” She touched it uncertainly, almost apologetically. “And all the others came in to wish me good-night.”

“So, will you sleep now?”

“Oh, I’m sure I will.” She tried to smile, but succeeded only in dropping her lips open and revealing the fact that her breathing was none too steady. Her fingertips fluttered to the buttons at her throat. Immediately, he captured the hand and drew it down. Then they sat with their fingers linked. Her heart beat like that of a captured bird, but there were so many things she wanted to say. “I don’t know what I would have done without all of you tonight,” she whispered. “Thank you, Scott.”

“There’s no need for thanks.” He gave in to impulse and circled her with both arms, pulling her lightly against his chest. He held her that way, motionlessly, for several long, long seconds. “We’re your friends. That’s what friends are for.”

Her heart slammed hard against him. She didn’t know where to put her hands except against his shoulder blades. She was conscious of Jubilee watching them from the foot of the bed, and of the intensified scent of cigar smoke from Scotty’s skin and clothing, and of the fact that her unbound breasts were flattened against his hard chest—the first time they’d ever found such a resting place.

“Good night, Gussie,” he whispered, then kissed the tip of her ear. “See you in the mornin’.”

“Good night, Scott,” she managed to say in a whisper. While her heart still pounded within her breast, he rose, caught up his jacket, and moved around the bed. Standing behind Jubilee, he leaned over the brass footboard. Jubilee lifted her face and smiled upside down at him.

“G’night, Jube,” he said.

They kissed upside down.

“’Night, Scotty. I’ll take good care of her for you.”

He winked at Jube and grinned at Agatha. “Y’all do that.”

Then he, too, was gone.

When the lantern was extinguished and the building
became silent, Agatha lay beside the sleeping Jubilee for a long, long time, as wide awake as she’d ever been in her life. She was confused and more aware of her own body than she ever recalled being. Not just the parts that usually hurt, but the parts that didn’t. From head to foot she felt tingly. Within her breast her heart continued thudding as if it had been powered by some mystical force after lying dormant all these years.

How could Scott have done such a thing—nonchalantly sat down beside her and taken her into his arms without a thought for propriety? And she in her nightie! And Jubilee right there!

But when her hands had rested upon his shoulder blades and her heart lay against his, her own thoughts of propriety had fled. How good it had felt to be pressed to his solid bulk, held for a minute. How hot her face had felt, and how insistent her own pulsebeat. How full and heavy her breasts, when crushed. She remembered the smooth feeling of his cotton shirtback stretched taut as he held her. And his jaw against her temple. And his collarbone against her mouth. And the smell—ah, the smell—so different from her own violet water and starch.

In the wake of remembrance came embarrassment.

But he belongs to Jubilee—doesn’t he?

Confused, Agatha tossed and turned to lie on her other hip. The same refrain kept spinning through her mind over and over again.

How can Jubilee belong to Scott if she has feelings for Marcus?

When she finally slept, it was fitfully, and without an answer.

In the morning they all pitched in as promised. Marcus installed a new doorknob, and when Willy showed up they put him to work collecting feathers and stuffing them into a pillowcase. Agatha noticed he was scratching again and made a mental note to talk to Scott about it.

She’d awakened uncertain how to act around Scott this morning, but he treated her as platonically as always.

By ten-thirty Willy grew weary of chasing down feathers, so Agatha sent him off to Halorhan’s to see if she’d received any mail.

He returned with the latest issue of
The Temperance Banner
and an envelope bearing a Topeka postmark and Governor John P. St. John’s official return address.

“Why, it’s from the governor!” she exclaimed.

“Oooo, the guv’nuh!” repeated Ruby. “My, ain’t we in tall cotton!” She rolled her eyes and shook her fingers as if they’d been singed.

Agatha carefully slit the envelope and removed a letter engraved with the state seal, while they all gathered around: Marcus, with a screwdriver in his hand; Scott, with his elbow propped on a broom handle; the girls, perched on the edge of Agatha’s tiny kitchen set; Ivory and Jack peeking over her shoulder; Dan with Willy climbing up on his boots to get a better look.

Agatha’s eyes quickly scanned the sheet.

“Well, what’s it say?” demanded Ruby.

“It’s an invitation.”

“Well, read it ‘fore we git gallstones from frettin’!”

Agatha’s glance flashed to Scott. Then she turned away nervously. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. She cleared her throat and moistened her lips.

Dear Miss Downing,

As an active member in the movement to prohibit the sale of intoxicants in the state of Kansas, your name has been mentioned to me by State Representative Alexander Kish, Miss Amanda Way, and Miss Drusilla Wilson. As you know, when I became elected governor of Kansas, I made a promise to my constituents to do all within my power to banish not only the consumption of alcohol, but its sale as well within the boundaries of our fair state.

To this end I heartily support the recent legislation passed by both houses of the legislature, proposing ratification of a prohibition amendment to our state constitution.

If those of us who in the past have worked with zeal toward this noble cause will clasp hands once again for more aggressive work than ever before, this amendment can and will be ratified by the voters of Kansas.

By way of expressing my appreciation for your work and encouraging your further support for the prohibition movement, I extend this invitation to afternoon tea in the rose garden of the governor’s mansion on September fifteenth at two o’clock
P.M.

The letter was signed by Governor John P. St. John himself.

When Agatha finished reading, nobody said a word. Her face and neck felt uncomfortably warm. She stared at the letter, afraid to look up and meet their eyes in the strained silence. The stiff paper crackled as she folded it slowly and then slipped it back into the envelope.

“What’s wrong?” Willy’s voice seemed to boom in the room as he glanced up from one face to another.

Finally, Agatha raised her eyes. She tried to think of an
answer, but the only one that came to mind was, “Nothing,” and it wasn’t true. Scott still leaned on the broom, frowning at her. Marcus worked a thumbnail over a blob of dry paint on the screwdriver handle. Jack scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, while Ivory’s long black fingers played a silent song against his thigh. The girls sat dejectedly, studying the floor they’d just helped clean.

One could have heard a snake breathe in the room.

“What’s wrong, huh?” Willy repeated, confused.

Dan came to the rescue. “Whaddaya say, buddy?” He dropped a hand to Willy’s head. “Wanna come downstairs and help me sweep up the place?”

Willy obediently turned to leave, but he craned his neck to look back at the dismal group as he and Dan walked away. “Well, sure, but what’s wrong with everybody?”

“Things you don’t understand, pup.”

When they were gone the silence hung long and heavy. Finally, Ruby asked Agatha, “You goin’?”

With an effort, Agatha raised her eyes to Ruby’s—black and inscrutable. It struck Agatha that Ruby was the descendant of a long line of slaves, and slaves learned early how to hide their deeper emotions. Not a glimmer of emotion showed upon Ruby’s face at the moment.

“I don’t know,” Agatha answered heavily.

Ruby looked away, leaned over to pick up a dustpan. “Well, bes’ be gittin’. Everythin’s done ‘round here.”

They drifted away one by one until only Scott remained.

Through the open window came the distant mooing of cattle, the sound of wagon wheels and hooves passing on the street below, a ringing game of horseshoes in progress outside next to the hotel. But within Agatha’s apartment all was silent.

Scott dropped his elbow from the broom, took two punishing swipes at the floor, then gave up to stare at the toe of his boot. He shifted his weight to the opposite hip and looked across the room at Agatha.

“Well...” He drew in a deep breath, then blew it out.

A small fissure formed in her heart. “Scott,” she appealed, “what should I do?”

“You’re askin’ me?” He laughed once, hard and harsh.

“Who else can I ask?”

His voice grew angry, exasperated. He pointed toward the street. “Try those crazy women you march into the saloons with!”

“They’re not crazy! They have good cause.”

“They’re a bunch o’ dissatisfied wives who’re lookin’ for a way t’ get their men back home when all it’d take is a little cuddlin’ t’ keep ‘em from leavin’ in the first place!”