faerie queen; he’d dropped out of a tree and tangled her securely in his net. An old dream. So what in hell made this one so bloody strong?
His inner voice smirked and refused to answer, simply retreated into silence. Still cursing silently, William stomped down the street, eager to reassert control over his world.
Viola set little Jenny Browning down and watched her scamper back to her mother. She bent and picked up the laundry basket again, unconsciously balancing the weight as she had thousands of times during the past six months. The only difference today was she’d be delivering laundry to Mrs. Smith alone, rather than with Maggie.
They’d originally agreed it was best to do so together, rather than set tongues gossiping about two respectable widows entering the most infamous house of prostitution in Rio Piedras. But Mrs. Smith paid top dollar for fine laundry, providing the few profits that could pay off their inherited debts rather than just keep them alive.
Viola frowned slightly as she shifted the basket, careful not to snag her threadbare dress. Maggie had asked for privacy to bid farewell to her Colorado suitor, so Viola was delivering laundry alone. She shouldn’t even take the time to enjoy any gossip as she did so, unlike her usual practice.
She reminded herself that Maggie had enough agony to bear on this mid-April day in 1871, the anniversary of her baby son’s death. The usual rituals of death, like a visit to the cemetery or a walk to the chapel, could wait until later when Maggie was more composed. Perhaps then she’d be less angry and more inclined to remember her lost child.
Flinching from the thought of children, Viola forced her mind to other things, such as the possibility of a large tip and how it’d help remove their debts. If she worked hard enough and Rio Piedras’s silver mines didn’t play out too soon, she’d be able to pay off Edward’s gambling losses and leave for San Francisco in another six years. And if she were truly lucky, she’d have enough money for a piano and could give lessons. Decades of listening to little girls massacre Beethoven sounded like heaven after a year in Rio Piedras.
Maggie had inherited fewer debts from her husband to worry about. She needed less than two years to become independent.
So Viola continued up the hill, easily carrying the heavy basket on her shoulder as she whistled the “Minute Waltz.” Her faded blue calico dress and sunbonnet were as immaculate as she could make them, silent advertisements of her skills as a laundress. Her pale hair was tidily pinned up under her bonnet, while her dress fitted her neatly from shoulders to waist in witness to Maggie’s dressmaking talents. She lacked only her beloved brooch, left behind in Maggie’s care, since the dress’s calico was no longer strong enough to support the heavy gold.
Hopefully, she looked strong and capable, despite less than two hours of sleep the night before.
She moved quickly past the saloons and gambling halls Edward had once frequented in his endless search for luck and gold. On the streets behind them stood the brothels and cribs, where the middle and lower ranks of prostitutes labored.
She automatically averted her eyes from the Oriental Saloon, the most exclusive of all. Edward’s one visit there had left him victim of a stab wound to the heart, a murder witnessed by no one who’d talk. The few coins in his pocket hadn’t begun to pay off his mountainous debts.
“Good morning, Mr. Johnson.” She nodded a polite response to Ted Johnson’s tipped hat and was secretly glad that he didn’t try to strike up a conversation. He hadn’t asked her to marry him in the last two months but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do so again, given a chance; nearly every other unmarried man who passed through Rio Piedras had. Amazing how many offers a girl could get from a man desperate for a home-cooked meal, however poorly prepared.
Now humming a sentimental Stephen Foster tune, she cautiously opened Mrs. Smith’s back gate, watching for the guard dog. Jake bounded up to her silently and promptly sat at her feet, his beloved red ball in his mouth. Viola grinned and set the basket down, pleased that Jake was in the mood for play. That was much more enjoyable than facing his typical greeting to trespassers, which sent most of them screaming for the gate.
He dropped the ball into her outstretched hand and watched her eagerly. A