The Fire (Northwest Passage Book 4) Page 7

  The exchange of glances continued as Sarah tried to diagram a sentence on the blackboard for her class of twenty. She turned toward the door, nodded at the principal, and shifted her soft green eyes to Morrison's guest. A gentle smile followed the gaze, a smile and a gaze that Kevin had seen from a city street and again from a restaurant table.

  "Has Miss Thompson adjusted well to life here?"

  "I believe so. She's made many friends and seems happy with her work," Morrison said. "Wallace is a fine town, Mr. Johnson. If you are the kind of man looking to settle down and invest yourself in a school district and a community, you can't do much better than here."

  Kevin met Sarah's eyes one more time as Morrison led him back to the hallway. She smiled again, ever so slightly, before returning to her students.

  He didn't know what the smile meant or what he could do about it even if he did. He was a time traveler, for Pete's sake, a person who had no business wandering the corridors of a high school during the time of his great-great-grandfather.

  Kevin knew only that his simple field trip to the Edwardian Era, a journey that still boggled his mind, was getting increasingly complicated. He was doing more than having fun in 1910. He was getting attached to 1910, and that was potentially a troubling thing.

  CHAPTER 14: KEVIN

  Monday, February 21, 1910

  As he sat on a favorite stool in what had become his favorite place, Kevin thought about a comment by Walt during his seemingly distant walking tour of Wallace. The guide had said he could measure a community's wholesomeness by comparing the number of churches to saloons.

  Using that standard, Wallace was very much a work in progress. With seven churches, thriving service organizations, and a growing family class, it wasn't Sodom and Gomorrah or even the rough-and-tumble mining camp of the 1880s, but with thirty-eight saloons, six brothels, five card rooms, and four dance halls, it wasn't a convent either.

  Kevin knew the numbers of "good" and "bad" institutions in town because the city reporter for the Wallace Standard had told him. He glanced at Andy O'Connell as he finished his fourth whiskey in the Shooting Star, one of the bad institutions he now thought of as good.

  "You sure drink a lot," Kevin said, slurring his words. "I never drink this much, but now I do. I'm becoming Irish."

  "Indeed you are," Andy said. "Your mother would be proud."

  "My mother would whip me upside the head if she saw me now. She hates drinking."

  Andy raised his glass.

  "She sounds like a good woman."

  "She is," Kevin said, wondering what Shelly Johnson would think of her son getting drunk in 1910. "What about your family? What do they think about you and Wallace?"

  Andy's smile morphed into something that resembled a thoughtful frown.

  "They don't think much, being dead as they are. My mother, bless her soul, succumbed to consumption when I was six. My father died in a factory fire five years later. I raised my brother and got out when I could. Idaho seemed like a good place to get lost."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I've had a good life, all things considered. I matter here. I didn't matter in Boston. I have goals now, even dreams," Andy said. He smiled again as he turned to face Kevin. "What about you, gallant traveler? Do you have goals? You've been here a week and haven't done much but take in the shows and drink with me."

  Kevin pondered the question before answering. Yes, he had goals. He wanted to be a college professor and a pioneer in his fields, not to mention a husband and a father. He wanted to make a difference in the world. He also had a more immediate goal. He wanted to enter Asa Johnson's chamber of stones Wednesday evening and successfully return to a time that made sense.

  That didn't mean he regretted the decision to return to the past. He had enjoyed his second tour of turn-of-the-century Wallace and very much enjoyed the company of his new companions.

  Kevin had spent a lot of time with Andy and Maude since moving into her house Wednesday night and found them as interesting as anyone he had met in four years of college. He'd been tempted on several occasions to ask Andy if he and Maude had something going on, but he had remained silent each time. Their relationship was none of his business and didn't matter anyway. He would be gone from their lives soon enough.

  He gazed at the Shooting Star's brass cash register and then at the photo of the beautiful woman. She had not changed in five days. She still taunted him with the same beguiling smile, a smile that reminded him of an unhealthy obsession.

  Kevin knew he had to get over Sarah. Like the woman in the photo, she was something that existed mostly in his mind. She was a stranger in a strange time, a woman he could never have, but that didn't stop him from thinking about her.

  "It's the girl again, isn't it?" Andy asked, interrupting Kevin's whiskey-fortified daydream. "You're thinking about her."

  Kevin laughed.

  "I see you're back to mind reading."

  "It's what I do," Andy said. He looked at Kevin thoughtfully. "Have you seen her?"

  "I've seen her."

  "Then why aren't you with her?"

  Kevin smiled sadly and studied his nearly empty glass.

  "I'm not with her because she's not mine."

  "So make her yours. You're a fine-looking lad – and educated."

  "It's not that simple."

  "Sure it is," Andy said. "If there's one thing I've learned in twenty-five years, it's that life is as bloody simple as we make it. When I decided to try my hand at journalism, I had little money, no useful experience, and only a year of university. I had nothing, really, but that didn't stop me from coming out here to pursue a career. We make our own way, my friend."

  "I guess you're right."

  Kevin sighed and gazed again at the picture on the wall. He kept to himself for nearly a minute before his companion broke the silence.

  "Tell me something," Andy said. "How long's it been since you've had a lassie on your lap?"

  Kevin spit out his drink and laughed. He couldn't relax for a moment around this guy. He thought about the question and considered a face-saving answer but ultimately went with the truth. If Andy could read his mind at other times, he could surely read it now.

  "It's been eight months."

  "Eight months? Oh, Blessed Mary, no wonder you're feeling down."

  "I've been in sort of a rut this year."

  "I should say so," Andy said. "Eight months is entirely unacceptable. We'll have to do something about your lady problem and do it soon."

  "I'm not sure you can help with this girl."

  "I doubt I can," Andy said, "but I can certainly help you with another."

  Kevin froze. He didn't like where the conversation was going.

  "You have a girl in mind?"

  Andy laughed heartily.

  "I have several girls in mind," Andy said. He got up from his stool and placed a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Today is your lucky day, Mr. Johnson. Today is your lucky day."

  CHAPTER 15: KEVIN

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea," Kevin said.

  He stumbled over a pothole as he tried to catch Andy on their brisk two-block walk from the Shooting Star to a "boarding house" in the Triangle of Sin.

  "Of course it's a good idea," Andy said. "Today is Monday."

  "What's so big about Monday?"

  Andy smiled and shook his head.

  "You really need to get out more. Monday is the best day to visit the ladies. It's five dollars a throw until midnight. Maggie looks after our businessmen."

  Kevin didn't need further elaboration. They were headed to the biggest whorehouse in town: the one that Walking Walt had practically called a national treasure.

  "OK. I get the bargain part, but what about the rest? Don't you worry about catching a disease? We're talking about prostitutes here."

  Andy stopped and turned to his companion.

  "You worry too much. We're not going to the cribs by the river. We're going to the best, the very best. Magg
ie's girls are clean and much more pleasing to the eye than the average Sally on Cedar Street. Enjoy yourself. The treat is on me. Come."

  Kevin resisted the temptation to walk back to Maude's mansion. This was crazy. Did Andy O'Connell, man of the world and ace reporter, not know the first thing about syphilis and gonorrhea? Wednesday's return trip to the Age of Antibiotics began to look very attractive.

  Five minutes later the men walked through an alley to a large nondescript building in the heart of the restricted district. They entered an unmarked door and proceeded down a short hallway to a lobby, where they stopped and waited in front of an unoccupied desk.

  Kevin looked to his right and saw several dapper men, no doubt seeking their specials, drink at a bar and speak flirtatiously to an equal number of women. Each of the women wore what could charitably be called a nightgown. All appeared to be having a good time.

  He again questioned the wisdom of coming here. Why did he do things in Wallace that he would never do anywhere else? Andy was clearly one answer. Sour-mash whiskey was another.

  Kevin turned to Andy and started to speak but held his sedated tongue when he saw a stout woman on the short side of forty lead two younger, more attractive women into the room. The older woman smiled when she saw Andy and pulled a book from behind the desk.

  "Welcome back, Mr. O'Connell. I see you brought a friend today. How can I help you?"

  "You know me, Maggie. I wish to see my favorite flower."

  "Jasmine's been expecting you. I'll call her in a moment."

  Maggie Ryan made a notation in the book and then gave Kevin a close inspection.

  "You're a handsome one. What can I do for you today?"

  "I'm just along for the ride, ma'am," Kevin said. "I don't need anything."

  "He's just joking," Andy said. "He wants the same thing. This is my friend Kevin Johnson. He's come here from Seattle in search of a teaching position."

  "Is that right now?" Maggie asked. "We like educators. How can we further your education today, Mr. Johnson?"

  The two women at Maggie's side laughed.

  "I don't know," Kevin said. "I'm kind of new at this."

  Maggie put a hand to her chin and stared at Andy.

  "He's not a talkative one, is he?"

  "He's a wee bit shy and somewhat concerned he'll catch more than a cold if he loiters in your lobby very long," Andy said. "Only the most wholesome girl will do for him."

  The women laughed again.

  "I run a fine establishment, Mr. Johnson. My ladies are the queens of the Coeur d'Alenes. If it's wholesome you want, it's wholesome you'll get. Jenny, go get the new girl."

  Jenny, the older looking of Maggie's assistants, frowned.

  "You want me to get her now? She just got here."

  "There's no time like the present to get to work. Yes, go get Sadie."

  CHAPTER 16: SADIE

  Sadie sat in a chair in Maggie's largest parlor and wondered again how it had come to this. She knew the answer, of course. She was on the verge of becoming a prostitute because of the failings of a good man, the avarice and cruelty of a bad man, and her own cowardice.

  She knew it wasn't really fair to blame the good man. Henry Hawkins had been a kind and loving father who had done his best to provide for his only child after his wife had died of influenza. For a while, he had even been a capable businessman.

  He had opened a hardware store on the east end of town and had managed it successfully until the Panic of 1907 had sent the economy into a spin. Needing a quick fix for his growing debt, Henry had turned to an unscrupulous man for help. When Henry had died, his short-term, high-interest loan had become his daughter's long-term, high-anxiety problem.

  Preston Pierce, owner of the Intermountain Bank, had leaned hard on Henry's sole heir after Henry's passing on Christmas Day 1909. He had told Sadie in no uncertain terms that she would never be able to leave Wallace until she paid back every penny of the three thousand dollars her father had borrowed but not returned. Though he could not send her to debtor's prison in Idaho, he could make her life miserable – and he was just the kind of man to do it.

  Sadie, 19, had managed to pay back half of the debt by liquidating her father's inventory and selling various personal belongings, including jewelry that had once belonged to her mother. She had promised to pay off the balance if it took her the rest of her life, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Pierce had demanded that the debt be paid in full, with interest, by the end of 1911.

  Desperate and afraid, Sadie had turned to the only person in town who could provide her with the means to retire the debt. Maggie Ryan had balked at first. She had not wanted to sully her reputation as a civic-minded businesswoman by taking on the orphan of a failed merchant, but she relented when Sadie had broken down and explained her circumstances.

  So on Sunday morning, Sadie had moved out of her father's foreclosed property and moved into the boarding house. She had managed to retain her dignity through the Sabbath, when most of Maggie's patrons attended to their wives and girlfriends, but she knew her time was coming. She had resigned herself to the inevitable and so wasn't at all surprised when Jenny Chandler walked into the parlor wearing a frown.

  "Maggie wants you to come to the lobby. There's a gentleman there," Jenny said.

  Sadie felt her stomach sink as she realized that her life was about to change. Just the look on Jenny's face told her all she needed to know about what awaited.

  She had often dreamed about her wedding night and her first time. She thought about how beautiful it might be and how relations with the man she loved would likely lead to the family she had always wanted. But this was no wedding night. This was business as usual in the red-light district. It was the opening act in a miserable play that might last up to two years.

  Sadie got up from her chair and tightened the belt of a silk nightgown she had borrowed from one of the girls. She couldn't bring herself to wear anything more garish, though she figured that, too, would change as she became more accustomed to life in a bordello.

  Sadie looked at her new friend and wiped away a tear.

  "I don't think I can do this, Jenny. How do I get through it?"

  Jenny, a thin redhead with a pleasing face, gave Sadie a hug and put her hands on the younger woman's shoulders.

  "Just relax and think of other things, like all that you have going for you. You're pretty and smart and resourceful. If you keep your head, you'll make it, honey. You'll pay off your debt and get out of here. I know you will."

  "But what should I say? What should I do?"

  "Take your cues from the customer. No two are the same, Sadie. Some talk. Some don't. Some are gentle. Some are beasts."

  Sadie frowned. That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

  "I can give you one piece of advice," Jenny said.

  "What's that?"

  "Don't be afraid to take the lead if you smell whiskey on his breath. It may be your only chance to set a drunken man's head straight. Remember that."

  "I will."

  "Trust your instincts. You'll know what to do."

  Jenny glanced at a clock on a wall, gave Sadie another hug, and stepped back.

  "We should go now," she said.

  Sadie nodded and followed Jenny out of the first-floor parlor and down a long hallway to the reception desk, or what some girls sarcastically called "the transfer station." When she walked into the lobby, she saw Maggie Ryan stand next to a man who appeared to be in his early twenties. In the distance, the Standard's city reporter warmly embraced Jasmine Moreau.

  Sadie tensed up when Jenny left her side and stepped behind the desk. When she saw her friend offer a reassuring smile, she returned her attention to her employer.

  "You asked to see me, Maggie?"

  "Yes, Sadie. I did. I would like you to spend some time with this gentleman."

  Maggie and Sadie each turned to face the man.

  "This is Mr. Kevin Johnson. He is new to our establishment," Maggie said. "Mr
. Johnson, this is Sadie, your escort. She will accompany you to the Franklin Room."

  Sadie gazed at the customer for several seconds and allowed herself to breathe. She had feared she would find an older man – a cruel, ugly sort that had not bathed in a month. What she found was something else. Mr. Johnson was young and handsome and had a gentle quality to his eyes that she had not expected. She could only pray that he was kind as well.

  "Sadie, I trust you know where to go," Maggie said.

  The comment brought the new girl out of a daze.

  "I do," Sadie said.

  The madam looked at the client and smiled.

  "Enjoy your time here, Mr. Johnson."

  The young man blushed.

  "Thank you," he said.

  Sadie gathered herself, stepped toward the man, and grabbed one of his hands. The hand was warm and comfortingly clammy. Perhaps the buyer was as terrified as the seller.

  "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson," Sadie said, using words she had been instructed to use. "Please follow me."

  CHAPTER 17: KEVIN

  The first thing Kevin noticed when "Sadie" entered the lobby is that she didn't look like a prostitute. She looked like a college freshman finding her way between her dorm room and the restroom in bare feet and a loose-fitting nightgown. She didn't have the hardened or defeated appearance of a woman who had given herself to strangers several times a day for many years.

  She was also uncommonly beautiful. With wavy black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, liquid brown eyes, and a soft round face that radiated innocence, she looked very much out of place in this house of ill repute.

  He followed her down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the second floor. From there, they proceeded down another corridor to a room furnished with a coat rack, a small nightstand, and a double bed with a black wrought-iron frame. Red pinstriped paper covered the walls.