Above the Bridge (20 page)

The gray of the antler arch was dull and dark in the falling rain.  Very few people wandered along the edge of the square.  A woman in her mid-thirties walked a golden retriever, one hand holding its leash, the other clutching the chin straps of a slick rain hood.  A man stood under the covering of the local bus stop, a newspaper braced above his head for additional shelter from the rain.  Three teenage boys horsed around on the opposite side of the square, oblivious to the spatters of mud and splashes of water that their shenanigans sent flying.  Twilight was fast approaching and the neon light of The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar glowed in the background, gleams of colored light oozing out into the wet, misty air.

Paige looked around slowly and then returned her gaze to focus on the antler arch again.  Closing her eyes, she summoned up all the energy she could.  It had to work, she thought.  She knew this was the best chance to help Jake.  She stood for what seemed like a very long time, listening in turn to the splashing of vehicles passing by on the rain-slicked roads, the carefree laughter of the boys across the square and the air-pressured brakes of the local bus stopping to pick up its passenger.

Slowly, however, the sounds faded away into mere background noise and, soon after that, into silence.  A sense of peaceful relaxation washed over her.  She opened her eyes and looked up, finding that her hopes had paid off.  The top of the antler arch had just a faint glow to it.  Paige stepped forward and searched the ground, but there was no sign of the skeleton key.  She paced several yards to each side of the arch, but the sidewalk was clear of debris.  Sticking one boot into a large puddle, she tapped the pavement, searching for any object the water might be hiding, but there was nothing.  Just as she was starting to fear that she’d have to give up, she spotted a small scrap of silver sticking out from a shrub on the other side of the arch.  From the dull tone of the metal and the smooth curve of the upper edge, she recognized it as the top of the key.   She looked around, took a deep breath and stepped through the arch.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The smell of fresh hay and the sound of neighing horses filled the late afternoon air.  Thin rays of light filtered through the roof, casting a golden glow on the ground and against the walls of the livery barn. Paige looked around, first to the right, out the front barn door, where two cowboys sauntered by on horses, and then out the back door, where she saw nothing but open space and mountains.  Looking down, she found herself wearing an old, baggy pair of blue overalls, an even baggier white shirt and brown work boots.  Lifting her hands to her head, she felt the rough leather of a hat, as well as the width of a wide brim encircling the hat itself.  Her hands moved down to her shoulders, where she felt the texture of her hair.  Impulsively, she gathered the hair into her hands and tucked it up underneath her hat.

Walking over to the back door, she looked out across the open field, but saw no activity, other than a few chickens pecking at the ground.  She peered around the side of the barn, finding the small wagon she remembered parked against the wall.  At the unexpected sound of a horse stomping its hoof inside the barn, she pulled back inside a little too quickly, knocking a horse shoe off the wall, which fell against a flat, metal trough of water and sent a clattering echo into the rafters.  Now, even more startled, she leaned against a wood beam until her heart stopped racing, only to soon find herself jumping again.

“Can I help ya, young fella?” a man’s voice called from the front barn door.  Paige looked across the expansive interior of the barn and squinted to see where the voice was coming from, but the sun had lowered in the sky and now was shining directly in her eyes.

“I said hello,” the voice said, a little louder this time.  “Is there anything I can do fer ya?”  Paige felt at a loss for words, but somehow pulled herself together when the figure came close enough for her to recognize Chester standing in front of her.  At this point, he narrowed his eyes and took a good look at her, lifted his hand to his chin and rubbed it back and forth.  Paige decided she had to say something and took the chance of speaking up.

“Chester, it’s me,” she said cautiously, watching Chester continue to squint and stare, clearly confused.

Not intending to cause him additional confusion, but in an attempt to clarify, Paige slowly lifted one hand to her head and pulled the hat off to the side, her soft, auburn hair falling down across her shoulders.

Chester’s eyes popped wide open and blinked several times.  He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again without a word.  He repeated this sequence again, still not finding any words.  Finally he gave up and just stood there, staring.

“Chester, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Paige said tentatively.  “It’s me, Pai...er...I mean Maylene.”  She held her breath, waiting for his response.

“I know who you are,” Chester said, his eyes wide as saucers.  “I just can’t figure out what you’re doing in that get up there.”  His eyes looked her up and down as he shook his head in disbelief.  “And where’ve you been, anyway?  Haven’t seen you around since that ride we took, up on the butte.”

“Well, I’ve been…I’ve been…”  Paige attempted to answer, but knew there wasn’t a good explanation, at least not a believable one.    She paused and decided to change the direction of the conversation.

“Chester, I may need your help,” Paige said.  “There are a lot of things I’m not going to be able to explain, but I’m probably going to need someone’s help and you’re the only one I feel I can trust.”  Paige paused, watching Chester and waiting for a reaction.

“You’re sure a funny one, ma’am, if I do say so myself.  Never met one quite like you,” Chester sighed.  “But if I can help you, I surely will.  You just tell me what you need and I’ll do anything I can.”

Paige quickly put the wide brimmed hat back on her head, tucking her hair underneath it again.  She pulled the hat down and checked around her neck for any loose strands of hair.  Satisfied there weren’t any showing, she shook her overalls and shirt to make sure they were hanging as baggily as they could and then looked up at Chester.

“Well, the first thing you can do is tell me if I look like a guy,” Paige asked.

“I sure ain’t never seen a lady dressed like that, if that’s what you mean, ma’am, and I don’t mean any offence by saying that, you understand.” Chester tried to choose his words carefully, not wanting to say anything that might be taken as an insult, but seeing that Paige was desperately waiting for an answer.

“Chester, if you saw me walking down the street like this, would you think I might possibly be a woman?” Again, Paige waited expectantly for his response.

“No, ma’am, I certainly wouldn’t,” Chester answered honestly, hoping for his own sake that this was the answer she was looking for.

Paige looked relieved and then pushed for a little more clarification.

“So if you saw me sitting in the saloon, looking like this, you wouldn’t think I was a woman?”

“No, I wouldn’t, ma’am.  We don’t expect to see women in the saloon in the first place, so I don’t think the idea would even occur to anyone in there.  You wouldn’t be recognized.  Not dressed like that, you wouldn’t.”  Chester stood back and looked at her carefully.  “No, you’d be alright.  You got a young face and you ain’t wearing any of that fancy paint that some of them women do.  They’d just take you fer a young man, that’s what they’d do.”  Chester paused before quickly adding “Again, I sure don’t mean any offence by that, ma’am.”

It was exactly what Paige wanted to hear.  Checking to make sure Chester would be around later, she adjusted her hat one more time, stepped out the front door of the livery and walked calmly down the street, assuming a leisurely but confident stride, as she figured a man might do.

Tuttle’s Saloon was crowded, as crowded as a place can be in a barely established town.  The bar was lined with men of varying heights and dress, most wearing hats and engaged in animated conversations with neighbors on adjacent bar stools.  It was not difficult for Paige to slip in essentially unnoticed, where she took one of the few empty seats, this one at the end of the bar.

Around her, the level of activity swirled with high energy.  Four men – the same four men she had seen before, from what Paige could tell – were carrying on an animated card game in the corner, setting aside their poker faces in order to have a dispute of some sort.  One man paced the floor with a glass of whiskey in his hand.  Two women in tight, gaudy attire leaned seductively against the far end of the bar – ladies of the night, Paige surmised by their high cut hemlines and even lower cut necklines, or even possibly dance hall girls from The Clubhouse.  This clearly worked in her favor, as the attention of the men not otherwise engaged in drinking or arguing seemed to be directed toward the two women.

There was no sign of Jeremiah, to Paige’s disappointment.  But at the moment it was Cyrus she hoped to see and in this wish she found herself lucky, as he was sitting just two seats away from her at the bar.  He appeared restless and nervous, fidgeting with his glass frequently.  Between gulps of whiskey, he tapped his fingers against the wood grain of the bar’s counter top.  Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to his whiskey again.

“What’ll you be drinkin’ today, young fella?” The bartender’s voice startled Paige out of her observation of the bar and its various customers.  Looking up cautiously, she was relieved to find the majority of the bartender’s attention was focused on a glass he was drying.

“A whiskey,” Paige muttered, keeping her voice as low as she could without sounding unnatural.  She watched as the bartender sauntered over to a row of bottles, picked out one that was almost full and poured a short glass half-way to the top.

As he approached the bar area in front of her seat, a new panic gripped Paige.  It was doubtful she had any money.  These get-ups that she kept finding herself in were designed more for fitting in with the surroundings than for actual day-to-day living.

“This one’s on the house,” the bartender said as he slid the glass casually down the counter.  “A young man passing through Jackson ought to be allowed a welcome drink.”

Paige breathed a sigh of relief.  Just as it had been when Chester had taken her to the top of the butte in the wagon, she was off the hook monetarily.

Cyrus continued to look around between swallows of his drink.  It was clear he was watching the door and waiting for someone.  With each passing minute he grew more impatient.  Paige guessed that the person he was waiting for was late, which would explain his continuous glances toward the entrance of the saloon.  Or, on the other hand, he might just be nervous.  This would be merited, she thought, if her suspicions were correct.

Paige took a sip of her drink, not wanting to appear too conspicuous by not touching it.  The rough liquid burned as it slid down her throat and she had to hold back to keep from choking.  She had always favored a nice merlot or chardonnay over liquor and she knew the abrasive liquid in her glass was a far cry from the products of modern day distilleries.

As Paige was attempting to get a second taste of the hideous drink across her lips, she noticed a woman enter the saloon, making a snake-like entrance in a rich, plum-colored velvet dress.  The plunging neckline and sleeves were trimmed with ruffled layers of rose lace.  Tiny pearls dotted the seams along the back of the sleeves, catching the bar’s light and twinkling in a star-like fashion.  Her dark brown hair was partially swept up under a velvet hat of the same color, edged in matching, glistening pearls and tilted slightly over her forehead.  The rest tumbled down over her shoulders in wild ringlets of curls.

She made her way across the room, ignoring the stares of a few of the men, and placed herself firmly against the bar to one side of Cyrus, who looked up at her with an expression that was a mixture of hunger and fear.  Leaning towards him in a sultry fashion, she rested her hand on his shoulder and appeared to whisper something in his ear.  These hushed words triggered a wide smile across his face and a twinkling in his eyes that appeared almost boyish in the glow of the lantern-lit saloon.

“Well now, don’t you look mighty fine tonight, Ruby.”  Cyrus spoke with the cockiness of a man trying to impress.  “That velvet sure does light up your pretty face.”

“Now, Cyrus, that’s about the nicest thing you could say to a lady and I do thank you,” the woman responded in a sweet, sugary tone.  She nodded yes to the bartender’s silent offer of a drink.

“Ain’t tellin’ you nothin’ but the truth,” Cyrus added with a school-boy grin.  “Why, Ruby, as sure as these mountains are high, you’re the prettiest female to ever set foot in this valley.  And I’ve seen a few come through before, but none as fine as you.”

Again, the woman leaned over and whispered in Cyrus’ ear.  And again he blushed and fumbled nervously with his drink.  They continued in this manner for some time, exchanging whispered conversation as Cyrus seemed to melt little by little into the bar counter.

With the continuing rain and approach of evening hours, the saloon became more crowded.  A few men hovered around the bar, while others stood alone or in groups in the center of the room.  Others rested against the wall next to Paige, oblivious to her, yet making her nervous, nonetheless.  She didn’t need one of them accidentally bumping into her and knocking her hat to the floor.  Seizing a sudden opportunity to grab a seat that emptied next to the lady in velvet, she moved into a better spot from which to try to overhear Cyrus’s conversation.  With the woman leaning against the bar, blocking his view, her move to the closer bar stool was not noticed.  She positioned her back away from them and took another burning sip of the whiskey, adjusting her hat forward a little, partially to hide her face and partially to conceal her grimace as she tried to swallow.