Pink Heart Jam


Pink Heart Jam


Pink Heart Jam

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“Miss, you look awful. Did a train run over your dog?”

The cook’s voice came from the back of the kitchen but his eyes were fixed on her chest. She didn’t think he’d noticed anything wrong with her hair or her clothes or her face or her skin before now; she was sure he hadn’t noticed that her dress was torn in several places or that there was soot around her neck and under her arms.

He must have seen all of this because it wasn’t until he started laughing that she remembered she had on two hats. The one covering her head was obviously missing and the other had fallen off while she was running across the tracks, dodging cars.

“I’ll bet you’re looking for your dog,” he said as he pointed at the hat. That’s when it finally registered that he’d never mentioned seeing her hat before.

She glanced down to see if she could find it, then looked up again, wondering how long she would be expected to stand in front of him wearing only one hat and nothing else. It might not look good for a lady, especially since he seemed to think the worst thing about her appearance was the fact that it was dirty.

She thought about asking the cook if she should wash her hands, thinking perhaps she wouldn’t seem quite so ridiculous then but decided against it. After all, she’d already been told that women who wore gloves were either too high-minded for men to associate with or weren’t married.

If she was going to be treated differently than most men, she might as well enjoy it and let herself become a little silly.

As she waited, she tried to remember what had happened since she’d left the ranch house earlier. There was nothing out here but trees and a few buildings, none of which had caught fire when they passed through.

She’d gone into the nearest building, a saloon, because she hadn’t thought anyone was looking for her. She’d hoped she might overhear something about a woman being taken prisoner by some gunmen and that’s why they were searching for her.

But the bar was empty except for three barmaids and an elderly man seated near the back. She went up to him and asked if there’d ever been such a raid. All he did was stare at her and say, “No.” Then he stood up and left without saying another word.

While she was sitting inside, she couldn’t help noticing the saloon girls’ legs as they walked past to bring beer or whiskey or whatever to the customers. She wondered if the men noticed how beautiful their calves looked or if they were too busy talking to notice what they were doing with the glass. One of them stopped in front of her, smiling broadly. “What can I do for you?”

“You know,” she said as casually as possible. “Anything.”

She followed the waitress as she moved around behind the counter, then grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to walk back to where she’d been sitting before. A few seconds later, the other barmaid approached and sat next to her, putting a hand on her leg.

This time when Maryanne turned to smile at her, she saw more than just pretty hair and nice legs. Her face was very familiar to her, though she didn’t know the name of the young woman sitting beside her.

The woman was almost as tall as she was and had short brown hair and large green eyes, but she reminded Maryanne so much of herself that she couldn’t believe it at first. Then it occurred to her that this woman might have been hired to impersonate someone else because she certainly looked like she belonged with those barmaids.

As soon as the girl got up to refill a customer’s cup, the waitress returned and slid into the chair across from Maryanne. “How are you?” she said as if nothing unusual was happening.

“Fine,” Maryanne replied, thinking to change the subject. “Are you enjoying your work? Is it everything you thought it would be?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Maryanne looked over to the corner where the bartender was cleaning glasses. “He’s a real hunk.”

The waitress laughed and slapped Maryanne’s shoulder. “Now, you be careful, miss. You don’t want a husband or a baby before you’re twenty years old.”

“Well, maybe you could talk to me about that.” Maryanne knew it was probably best not to tell the woman what she really wanted. “You’re supposed to take care of your body,” she continued. “But sometimes I wonder why men bother to go outside.

They might as well stay in the bedroom.” She took a drink of her beer to see if the girl would notice what she’d done. Of course, she pretended not to notice and Maryanne felt relieved.

It was then that the bartender approached them, smiling as usual. He poured the two drinks, then slid one over to Maryanne. When he turned away, she quickly tossed a coin onto the bar, hoping to get him alone so that she could try to learn something more about her new surroundings.

She wasn’t disappointed. As they left the saloon, he came alongside her and asked where she was staying. He was very polite and friendly and Maryanne enjoyed talking to him. It was clear that she would soon become popular among the saloon girls for having made friends with their boss.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again someday,” he said after they parted.

“Why do you say that?” Maryanne said, pretending she was surprised.

“I think you might make a good employee.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, winking at her as if there was a hidden meaning behind his words. “You’ve got spunk, and you’re very pretty.”

Then he hurried off to tend to other customers. Maryanne thought she should be embarrassed to hear such compliments coming from the mouth of a man who looked like a ruffian, but instead, she felt flattered. “You look very handsome yourself,” she told him, smiling as she glanced down at his clothes and saw no trace of blood or sweat. “Didn’t you work out of town last night?”

“I did.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” he answered, looking directly into her eyes. “Just some trouble between two drunks. That’s all.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

He nodded. “A couple of us were trying to keep things under control, but we couldn’t stop them.”

She felt sorry for him. What kind of men were these? How could they even think of hurting people, particularly women and children? Did they never think about the damage that would be inflicted on their victims’ bodies when they were shot or stabbed?

Or how they would feel when someone was forced to pull out their own teeth? If he hadn’t acted so quickly, she might have been the next victim. And if the others in the club had seen what was going on and didn’t intervene, would they have waited until the woman or child bled to death?

She remembered what Mr. Fletcher had said. These killers were cowards. Cowardice was something she understood, and she hoped that was one trait they shared. But she wasn’t sure yet.

The day passed by quickly. Before she knew it, the sun began to set and the street was filling with people preparing for the evening festivities. She wondered where the men who’d worked in that club last night were.

Perhaps they were already working somewhere else in town, ready to cause mayhem wherever they went. She tried to think back to the conversation she’d had with him. Maybe the bartender would know if any of the men he knew had ever been accused of anything violent or vicious.

It seemed a shame that the man had to work for murderers. She wondered if he would feel any obligation to help her find them.

Before she decided whether or not to ask him for help, she stopped walking and listened to the music coming from the bandstand across the square. The first notes were played by two men playing guitar and piano while three more musicians added to the melody with their fiddles and drums.

There were no words to the song she recognized because it was an old hymn that sounded almost hauntingly sad. Then, after several verses, a man with a deep bass voice sang the final verse.

She watched the crowd sing along with him and realized just how much she liked this little place. People smiled and waved as they walked by, and everyone was dressed in colorful western attire—cowboy hats, boots, fringed jackets, bolo ties. It reminded her of a movie set, especially since every shop displayed goods that would fit perfectly in such a setting.

“Are you lost?”

Maryanne looked up to see the man from the club standing before her. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore clean, pressed clothing.

“No, I’m fine,” she replied, wondering what he wanted.

“You seem to be getting acquainted with your fellow citizens,” he said, glancing at the people around her. “That’s not too hard for a city girl.”

“I’m not a city girl,” she said. “My home is in Ohio.”

His face lit up with a smile. “Whereabouts?”

“Northwest of Cleveland,” she said.

“How nice. We must be neighbors.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t you want to come over to my place for dinner tonight?” he asked, looking at her with a hopeful expression. “It’s a real pleasure meeting you.”

“No, thank you,” Maryanne said, wanting to get away from him. “I’ve got work to do.”

As soon as she turned toward the saloon, he called out, “Wait, won’t you reconsider?”

When she paused, he added, “There’s nothing to prevent us from having dinner together.”

“I have plenty to do,” she told him, wishing she could escape before she heard any more lies. “But it’s nice talking to you,” she added, hoping he would take no offense to her refusal.

“If you change your mind, call me sometime.” He took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips. “And please don’t forget to tell me where you’re staying. I’d like to invite you to our ranch.”

“I appreciate that offer,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll give you a call someday.”

***

The sun was setting when Maryanne left the saloon. She crossed the street, intending to go in the opposite direction from which they had come, but instead of turning right onto Second Avenue, she turned left and headed for the boardinghouse.

When she reached the building, she found the door locked. She glanced back at the saloon, thinking of the men who’d gone in there. Were they still there? Was it possible that she had missed some of them because she hadn’t been paying close attention to the area?

She hurried to the back door of the boardinghouse, hoping to catch one of the men coming out. Instead she found herself staring through a large glass window at the room where Mrs. Purdun lived.

She stood there for several minutes, watching the old woman cook in front of the stove. After a while, the smell of cooking food caused Maryanne’s stomach to rumble so loudly that she worried Mrs. Purdun might hear it. She was about to leave when something caught her eye.

The old lady looked up at the kitchen clock, then placed several slices of bread on the skillet, covering them with eggs. She covered that with a lid and slid it into the oven. Then she began making toast. As she spread butter on a piece of bread, Maryanne noticed a knife sticking out from beneath it.

A glance at her wristwatch informed her that it was only half past six o’clock. The men from the club would be long gone by now. But she wasn’t sure why she thought they’d gone somewhere else if not to the saloon.

Then, suddenly remembering where they had gone, she hurried to the saloon and went inside. To her surprise, the room was empty except for the bartender. He was wiping down the bar, obviously in the middle of cleaning. When he saw her enter, he put away the rag and wiped his hands dry.

“What can I get for you?” he asked as he approached her.

“Nothing,” Maryanne said. “I need directions.”

“Directions to what?”

“To where the men from your club were last night.”

“Why?”

“They tried to attack me,” she said, wondering where these questions were leading.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding sincerely concerned. “I hope they didn’t hurt you. We don’t allow fights here. They wouldn’t have gotten very far.”

“It wasn’t their fists that hurt me,” she told him. “It was an ice pick.”

He nodded his head. “Well, let me know if you ever run across them again. That’s all you have to do. Just give them this number.” He handed her a business card. “Just dial ‘three seven nine,’ and I’ll come out and deal with the problem myself. If they show up here, we can’t tolerate anyone causing trouble for our guests.”

“Thank you,” Maryanne said. “That will help.”

After leaving the saloon, she stopped by the boardinghouse and knocked on the door. When Mrs. Purdun opened it, Maryanne asked if she had seen two men pass by outside earlier that day.

“You mean those two guys?” Mrs. Purdun asked, glancing back at the kitchen window. “I did see them go out, but I didn’t think anything of it at first. They just walked away from here.”

Maryanne thanked her and went in. She felt relieved that she was able to get some information without involving the sheriff or anyone else. But then she thought of Sam. Where was he? Was he still in town? Or had he left already?

Either way, she should have called him sooner rather than later. He’d probably be furious at her for leaving without telling him where she was going. What if someone came after her, and she needed to call for help? She couldn’t reach him in time.

Leaving the boardinghouse, she decided to walk around the town and try to find him before calling him on the telephone. It seemed like such a waste to call his hotel when he could have stayed at one of his own hotels. Perhaps she’d ask him about it when she got off the phone.

For now, however, she was too impatient to wait until evening. The sun would soon set, and darkness would descend upon the city. Her next step was obvious: to visit a bank to take care of the money. She’d never had much experience handling cash, but she had learned to keep track of most of her assets through account books and ledgers.

Still, she’d feel better with some of her money in her possession instead of at a stranger’s bank.

When Maryanne found herself wandering past a jewelry store, she realized she was hungry again. While the prospect of eating had made her forget how hungry she was, it wasn’t enough to make her stop and actually buy something.

Instead, she kept walking, passing by the jewelry shop three more times before stopping to look in the window. The glass was so clear that it gave the impression that each gold piece hanging on display was moving, reflecting the afternoon light coming in from the street lamps. Each ring and necklace gleamed under bright illumination.

In reality, though, the jewelry was no more real than a mirage. Maryanne knew that. Yet the fact that it looked so genuine bothered her.

“Hello,” the jeweler’s wife said to Maryanne, who was leaning against the display case admiring the rings. “Are you interested in buying any of this fine jewelry?”

The woman smiled politely as she spoke. It was hard to imagine that the person behind those beautiful brown eyes was capable of selling a stolen diamond.

“No,” Maryanne said, looking at the gold and jewels, “not yet anyway.”

“I’m sure you’re not ready to buy, but I’m happy to show you anything you might be interested in seeing,” she said as she moved behind the counter and pulled out several items.

“I’m not really into diamonds,” Maryanne told her. “But I am thinking about getting married.”

“Oh,” she replied. “I see. Well, then perhaps we can talk about wedding bands and engagement rings.”

As Maryanne studied the jewelry in the display case, Mrs. Purdun appeared at the front door to see what she was doing. Maryanne saw that Mrs. Purdun wore only a pair of black cotton underwear beneath her dress, which seemed a little odd to Maryanne. Why did the woman wear such simple clothing? Did she expect the men staying at the hotel to come over and ogle her every move?

“We’ve been robbed!” Mrs. Purdun cried. “It happened right here in the boardinghouse! I’m so sorry. We were just talking about it, and then everything happened at once. One moment we were having breakfast, and then suddenly we heard screaming coming from the basement.”

The End

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