Tabitha (8 page)

“She’s ’bout as mean
as a snake, but with regular, ah,
persuasion
, she’s a good little
money-maker. Ain’tcha, Red?” Jock rolled his chaw around in his mouth and spit
into the general direction of an ornate brass spittoon. As usual, he missed his
mark and failed to notice—
or care
—that the disgusting wet blob had
landed shy of its mark and had splattered, instead, upon the expensive carpet
nearby.

From under my lowered gaze I watched the large man sitting
at a desk in front of us: He, too, noticed Jock’s miss. His jaw flexed and his
expression stilled.

Jock gripped my arm tighter and growled. “I said, ‘ain’tcha,
Red?’ You answer me, now. I don’t want Mr. Judd here t’ think you’re
unmanageable.”

But I refused to answer and fixed my eyes instead upon the
stain overspreading the carpet’s floral pattern; I studied a cream-colored tea
rose as it turned a nasty shade of rusty red-brown.

When I did not answer, Jock pinched my arm. I flinched yet
remained stubbornly mute. Jock, concerned that his sale was going south, dug
his fingers into my arm until his nails broke skin.

I cursed Jock inside, but I would not give him the pleasure
of answering. I was determined to sabotage Jock’s “sale.” I do not know what I
thought I would do if I did ruin his sale—given Jock’s threats.

The man behind the desk smiled and tapped a finger on the
desk’s blotter. “Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. . . .”

“Jacobs.
Jock Jacobs
at ’cher service, Mr. Judd.”
Jock preened and added, “Like I said b’fore.”

Judd’s eyes narrowed. “I
beg
your pardon, Mr.
Jacobs.”

In the same way that Jock had not noticed Judd’s reaction
when Jock’s stream of tobacco juice missed the spittoon, he now failed to
discern the way Judd’s eyes narrowed and glittered with disdain.

“No ’fense taken, Mr. Judd,” Jock replied.

A brighter man than Jock might have perceived the decided
chill in the other man’s manner, but Jock was not bright. Nor was he observant.

I, however, was nothing if not observant. I lifted my eyes
to Judd’s and allowed him to see the anger smoldering there. My bruises were
fading, but the beating had done nothing to shake me from the old anger. It had
utterly taken hold of me.

Amused, Judd smiled at me in return. Cal Judd’s complexion
was ruddy; his eyes a striking pale blue. Something flickered in those pale
blue eyes. Something dangerous. I swallowed and allowed my eyes to drop.

“Tell you what I am going to do, Mr. Jacobs,” Judd said
again. “I’ll take—
Red
, did you call her? I’ll take Red off your hands. I
am certain I can provide suitable . . .
persuasion
if it
is required.”

“Well, well. I’m right glad t’ hear it, Mr. Judd. M’ asking
price is two hunnert dollars.” Jock’s hands twitched. He was already counting the
bills, counting how he would spend them.

“I’ll give you one hundred.”

Jock frowned. “Well, now, m’ price is two hunnert. She’s
worth ever’ dollar, and tha’s a fact.”

Judd flicked open a small knife and proceeded to trim the
nails on his left hand. “Two hundred dollars, Mr. Jacobs? Why, Red here runs a
little long in the tooth, don’t you think? What is she? Twenty-eight?
Twenty-nine? Not exactly in the first blush of womanhood. Certainly too old for
you to be asking prime rate.”

Jock flushed. “But she’s ’sperienced. Good little whore, she
is! An’ the men love thet red hair. Ask fer her by name.”

Judd slowly stood up. From his seat behind the desk he’d
given the impression of mild, gentlemanly decorum, but now he towered over
Jock. His chiseled features hardened and he leaned forward—just enough for Jock
to, finally, take notice.

“Ninety dollars.”

Jock’s mouth opened in dismay, the wad of chaw peeking out
from between his cheek and lower jaw. “But-but-but you just offered a hunnert!”

“Yes, and every moment that goes by, the price will drop.”

“But—”

My snort of derisive laughter interrupted Jock. Despite the
iron grip he had on my arm, I sneered at him.

Jock reacted as I had known he would. “Why you no-good,
lazy—” He swung his fisted hand to punch my face—and found his fist caught in a
larger, stronger one.

“Can’t have you damaging the merchandise, Mr. Jacobs, not—”
Judd’s eye flashed. “Not if you expect a deal.”

While Jock considered the bull of a man who held his hand
captive, he moved the wad in his mouth around and packed it under his bottom
lip, “Hunnert dollars.”

“Eighty-five. I did warn you, Mr. Jacobs.”

Jock opened his mouth to protest again—and promptly closed
it. He sputtered and then growled, “Done.” He released my arm and gave me a
little shove in Judd’s direction. “Good riddance, Red. Ya bin nuthin’ but
trouble t’ me.”

“Welcome to the
Silver Spurs
, Red.”

I looked again into Judd’s cool blue eyes and shuddered. The
amusement I’d seen there scarcely hid the cruelty beneath.

Tabitha had been staring into space as she recited her tale.
She came to herself and glanced toward Rose.

“You are already familiar enough with Cal Judd and the kind
of monster he was. I will not say too much about my short interlude at the
Silver
Spurs
. I will only say this: Where Opal and Jock had struggled in
frustration to bend me to their will, Cal Judd looked forward to the task with
relish. I was not at the
Silver Spurs
long before I realized that Cal
had only taken me off Jock’s hands for the pleasure of breaking me.”

Tabitha shook a little and averted her eyes. “The thing is,
hate and anger are what had kept me going during those years with Opal and,
later, with Jock. I hated nearly everyone with an intensity that burned my
soul. I was always angry, always ready to blow up at any provocation—even when
I was forced to keep it tamped down.

“Well, Cal
wanted
to see my hate, so he toyed with
me. He provoked and prodded my anger and hate purely for the enjoyment of
crushing me under his thumb.

“For the first time in all those years, hate was not enough
to strengthen me. For the first time, I was terrified and near to despair. The
voice I had heard deep inside me had said,
Wait
, but I had been at the
Silver
Spurs
only three months when I came to the end of my rope. I could not wait
any longer. I knew Cal planned to kill me for sport, and I knew that no one
would care when he did.”

Tabitha sighed. “I remember, quite vividly, the morning I
determined to deny Cal Judd that last bit of myself. I decided to end my own
life. I would not have been the first whore—or the last—to choose that way out.
Especially when death seemed like the only option. Some women I knew drowned
themselves in alcohol to make life bearable, but many, like me, just wanted the
pain to stop for good.

“The cribs—the cramped rooms where we were confined and
where we conducted our business—were on the second floor, but the
Silver
Spurs
also had an attic and a trap door to the roof. The roof was the
highest point in the house. I made up my mind that morning to climb onto the
roof and jump to my death.”

Rose’s breath caught in her chest. “You have never spoken of
this, Tabitha.”

“No, but I should have. Even as filled with hate and anger
as I had been, I had not known real despair until I came under Cal Judd’s control.
My decision that morning was the true lowest point of my life. I came to the
end of myself, and it was necessary that I did.

“I cried out against all the injustices of my life, and I wept
as I had not wept in years. Not for the first time, I wondered what I might
have become if I had not followed Cray Bishoff into Arizona. Would I have had a
husband? A home of my own? Children?”

Tabitha bowed her head. “All those ‘might have beens,’ the
possibilities that
never would be
? They stripped away whatever rebellion
I had left. From the depths of my brokenness,
I called out
. I did not
know to whom I was calling, but I called anyway. I begged the God of the tall,
black preacher to help me.”

She was quiet for so long that Rose leaned toward her and
touched her hand. “What happened, Tabitha? What happened that night?”

Tabitha roused. “That night I felt . . .
heavy, weighted, without strength, as though climbing the few steps to the
attic and through the trap door was too much effort. Instead, after my last
customer left, I fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, for a second time, I planned to end my
life that night—and found myself,
again
, weeping and calling out. I
thought I was just . . . finally breaking to pieces, like Judd
wanted.”

“And then?” Rose asked softly.

Tabitha chewed her lip before she whispered, “And then I
heard that voice. In my head, I think. It might have been in my heart. I do not
know. It was just
there
, not out loud, but I heard it anyway. So clear.
So very clear.”

“That voice?” Rose stared hard at Tabitha.

“Yes, like before! It was the same simple, soft voice I
heard on the road to Denver. All it said was,
Wait. I am coming for you.
Wait for me.
”

Tabitha tipped her head over a little. “It was the same word
that had dropped into my belly when we passed by the preacher in the black
suit.”

She shook her head. “It was the same word,
Wait
. But
the voice added,
I am coming for you. Wait for me!
”

Rose shivered. “
I am coming for you?
What did you
think it meant?”

Tabitha shrugged and rubbed at the tension in her shoulders.
A wisp of flame-tinged hair came loose from the knot at the back of her head
and curled down her neck. “The voice said to
wait
, so I waited. I did
not know what I was waiting
for
, but I kept waiting and looking, all
that day, all that afternoon.”

Tabitha laughed, a bit embarrassed at the memory. “I thought
I might have become unhinged, you know? But when I looked inside and recalled
that voice, it was too true. Too pure to ignore.

“I waited into the evening. The night started as most did,
but I was distracted. I kept looking and expecting, as though something were
about to happen. When a customer left my room, I would pace. I found myself
quite excited, as though something momentous was close at hand.

“I was between customers and pacing when I heard a
commotion, the shouts of two men running through the upper hallway of the
Silver
Spurs
, throwing open the doors to the cribs. I knew Cal Judd was in a room
not far from mine. He was with a young girl they called Monique.

“I did not know what was happening, but Judd never allowed
disturbances to escalate. I expected him to burst from Monique’s room any
moment, shouting for his men. All his men wore guns, and I was afraid that
there would be shooting. I opened my door a crack anyway and peeked through—and
saw Marshal Pounder at the far end of the hall. Someone shouted his name,
Pounder!
and he ran from the farthest end of the hall toward me. I did not know him
then, but I saw the badge on his chest. He stopped at Monique’s room and went
inside.

“Two of Judd’s men thundered up the stairs and into the hall
just then. Pounder stuck his shotgun out the door to Monique’s room and yelled,
You men throw your guns out on the floor!
Judd’s men dropped to the
floor and did as Pounder told them, and Pounder stepped back into the hallway.

“Then this man wearing a bowler hat—I did not know Mr.
O’Dell then—backed out of Monique’s room, dragging Monique by her wrist. He
stopped in the doorway and I heard him snarl,
Open this door, Judd, and
you’ll catch a bullet
. He and Monique started down the hallway toward
Marshal Pounder and the stairs. As he passed my door—”

Tabitha broke off. She stared over Rose’s shoulder.

“What, Tabitha? What did you do?”

“Not me,” Tabitha breathed in wide-eyed wonder. “The voice!
It said,
Now! Go! Go with them!
I threw open my door as the man in the
bowler hat passed. He turned and pointed a small gun at me. I held out my hands
and I begged him,
Please! Please take me with you!
He was angry—just
worried, I think—but I begged him again, and he beckoned me to follow behind,
so I did.”

Tears were trickling down Tabitha’s face now, but she smiled
as though she’d said something humorous.

“What is it?” Rose demanded. She was present with Tabitha in
her story, standing in the doorway, watching O’Dell and Pounder rescue
fifteen-year-old “Monique” whose real name was Monika Vogel.

Rose was distressed that Tabitha had broken off her story.
“Please tell me what happened next,” she breathed.

“It is just that I was barefoot and, um, not fit to be seen
in public, Miss Rose. Remembering the situation just now, it struck me as
amusing. You see, all I had on was a dressing gown, and not a proper,
concealing wrapper either.”

“You . . . everyone could see through your
gown?” Rose blushed.

“Oh, yes. Indeed they could. I suppose it is irreverent to
speak of it, but I cannot help but consider the, er,
sight
I must have
been and laugh a little about it.”

Rose arched one brow. “I suppose it could be likened to how,
when God finds us, we are clothed in the ‘filthy rags’ of our sin?”

“Yes! You have hit upon it, Miss Rose!”

Tabitha shook her head and then sobered. “Mr. O’Dell and
Marshal Pounder took Monique and me down the stairs into the saloon and out the
front door—right out from under Cal Judd’s guards. We jumped into a waiting
motorcar and raced away. Later, at the Pinkerton office, O’Dell gave me a man’s
coat with which to cover myself.”