She looked at him, sitting there naked and grinning at her. She knew he was right. Already she could feel his power tugging at her flesh. Soon it would grow too strong and she would go to him, completely in his control.
She sighed. “And do what? Live in the gin the rest of your life?”
“I’ll get a job, maybe carrying sacks at the feed store, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get a place to live, make some money, come calling like any respectable young man and, after a decent length of time, so you don’t have to worry about your father anymore, ask for your hand all proper and fittin’.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you? What if my father throws you out of the house?”
“He won’t. I’ll be so hard-working and respectable he’ll welcome me with open arms.” He grinned again.
“What will you do in the meantime, until you get this job and make all this money?”
“Oh,” he said airily, “I’ve got money already. Haverstock paid pretty good and I didn’t blow mine on bootleggers and loose women. As soon as Haverstock and Louis leave, I’ll get me a place and start looking for a job.”
She looked at him curiously. “What have they got to do with it?” She frowned. “You’ve been hiding in here, from them, haven’t you?”
“Who did you think?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you were hiding from my… Why did you run off after the fire?”
“I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“What chances?”
“Chances of winding up fried to a crisp like the rest of them.”
She frowned again. “What does that mean?”
“I guess he’s got everybody convinced it was an accident or something.”
“Wasn’t it?”
He snorted. “I’ve been with Haverstock quite a while, longer than any of them except the freaks, and I keep my eyes and ears open. I know a lot more about him than he thinks. He’s a real loony from the word go. And mean as a snake. Felt real sorry for some of the freaks sometimes. Never did anything to me, though. I learned quick that a little ‘cooperation’ goes a long way.” He shrugged. “It was about time to be moving on anyway. Haverstock gets bored. Last night, after the Minotaur killed that girl…”
“Francine?” Rose said, feeling a peculiar sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t know what her name was. It’s happened before. After that, I figure Haverstock went out of his head and wiped out the whole outfit, except for good old Louis.”
“He set the fire and killed all those people on purpose?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I’m sure enough that I’m gonna stay outta sight until he’s gone for good.”
“He’d kill you too? Why? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Loonies don’t need reasons.” He lay back and crossed his arms under his head. “Come back tonight. I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“No. I can’t.”
“And bring me something to eat. I’m starving.” He closed his eyes and squirmed around, getting comfortable.
Rose pushed open the door, then turned and watched him for a moment, but didn’t say anything. Kelsey lay sprawled on the cottonseed, clothed only in the pride of his flesh, comfortable and content and secure in his power. Then she looked around carefully to see if anyone was in sight, and left, pushing the door shut behind her.
Rose stepped into the shade of the circus wagon because the sun was hot and she had come out without her parasol. Several other people were there, wandering around, looking, poking in the blackened debris. Rose didn’t remember walking from the gin to the burned-out tent show. She hadn’t intended to go there; she was sure she hadn’t intended to go there. She frowned, unable to understand why she was there.
She had only been standing there a moment, worrying the thought in her mind, when the door of the caravan opened. She jumped and looked up. Haverstock stood in the doorway, Louis just behind him. A smile flashed on Haverstock’s mouth.
“Good afternoon, young lady,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “Hello.”
He came down the steps, Louis following behind. “Have you come to view the last remains?”
She shook her head. “No… I mean, I was just walking by and stopped. I’m sorry about the fire. It was a good show.”
He smiled sadly. “Alas, all gone. The wonders of the ages up in smoke. But one must be philosophical. Life goes on, as they say. When one door is closed, you have but to open another.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. She suddenly felt a wind rising, but nothing stirred. “It’s certainly lucky everyone wasn’t killed.”
“Indeed. Louis and I were smiled on by Fate. And we also learned this morning that Angel was not among the unfortunate. But the poor boy became frightened and ran away. You haven’t by any chance seen him?”
“Oh,” she said, slightly startled. “No. No, I haven’t.”
“You will let us know if you should happen to do so?”
“Oh, yes, of course. I’m glad Angel is all right. But I meant the other man.” The wind in her head blew stronger and suddenly chill.
Haverstock’s face hardened for an instant, then his smile returned. “What man is that, my dear?”
“Well, I don’t know his name. He worked at the show. He was taking tickets Friday night when I was there, I believe.”
“Kelsey,” Louis said mildly.
“And how do you know he’s still among the living?” Haverstock asked, still smiling.
“I saw him. Going into the gin.”
“And when was this?”
“Just a few minutes ago. I was out for a walk.”
“Fortune does indeed seem to smile on us more and more by the hour.”
“Well,” she said, “I have to be getting back home. Goodbye.”
“Good-bye, my dear.”
She walked away, the wind swirling around her. It whistled through her head, chill and damp.
And safe.
28.
Will Hindley built the house when Hawley was a collection of saloons on the trail from Texas to Dodge City. He raised fine Hereford cattle and married a schoolteacher from St. Louis. He was nineteen when he started the herd, thirty when he built the house, and thirty-five when he married. He was forty when his first and only child was born, forty-three when he made his first million, and forty-seven when he was shot and killed by a drunken ranch hand.
With her seven-year-old son firmly in tow, his widow took the stage to Dodge City the same day they hanged the ranch hand. From Dodge City she took the train back to St. Louis and never saw Kansas again. She left the ranch in the hands of bankers and built a grand mansion where she lived like a duchess until she died of diphtheria when her son was fifteen. Over half the million was gone.
The bankers, to do them credit, did the best they could. They sold the cattle, leased the land, and rented the house.
But by the time the son was thirty, he had spent the other half million. He had debts he could never hope to pay, and ordered the bankers to sell everything. The St. Louis mansion had already been put on the auction block.
The ranch was too big for one person to buy in one piece, so it was parceled out, a thousand acres here and a hundred acres there, sold both to ranchers and dirt farmers. The man who bought the parcel containing the house had a fine home in Wichita and had no use for it. So it was stripped and abandoned, left like a Victorian tombstone in the middle of nowhere.
Now cattle, but not Hindley cattle, grazed around it and watered in Crooked Creek a hundred yards behind the house.
“It isn’t the Savoy,” Henry said as he plucked needle grass from his socks and surveyed the empty room festooned with peeling wallpaper, “but it will do very nicely.”