Dirty Money

Book by Womack Steven

"Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray!"
Blushing furiously, Low Down scowled at the men saluting her and waving tin mugs of beer that Olaf had brewed for the occasion. As she'd never before been a guest of honor or been cheered, she didn't know how to respond or where to look or if she should raise her beer mug, too.
Feeling flustered, she turned her gaze down the mountainside toward the haze of smoke hanging above the ashes of the schoolhouse. Burning the school had been the first order of business; then everyone had climbed up to Olaf's cabin for a celebration dinner of fried trout and elk steaks, followed by spirited talk about rebuilding.
It was a gorgeous day to consider new beginnings. Blue gentian and thick clumps of purple aster spilled down the mountainside like jewels strewn among the boulders. Daisies danced along the valley bottom, chasing the creek, and the rabbit brush had spiked into golden bloom. High overhead an eagle circled against a bottomless sky, so graceful and wild and free that Low Down's chest ached to watch. Right now she wished that she, too, could fly so she could escape the speech it appeared that Billy Brown, Piney Creek's self-appointed mayor, was preparing to deliver.
Stepping up on Olaf's sagging porch, Billy pulled back his shoulders, thrust out his belly, and led the enthusiastic salute in Low Down's honor. If she'd known she would be cheered, if she had even suspected this would turn into the proudest day of her life, she would have bathed in the creek this morning and washed her hair and donned some clean duds for the occasion. Instead, the guest of honor wore an oversized men's shirt and denim trousers, neither of which were too clean, and mud-caked gum-rubber boots. While self-consciously stuffing a hank of hair up under her old hat, she noticed that everyone else had spiffed up.
Billy Brown wore an almost-new red flannel shirt under the bib of his overalls, and he'd combed his hair and trimmed his beard. In fact, all of her former patients were nearly as tidy as they had been before the women left camp at the beginning of the epidemic. It touched her that the men had done some laundry and combed some hair in her honor.
"First we need to thank Olaf Gurner for today's fine repast and for stepping up to the stove and feeding our sick after Jacob Jansen drowned," Billy Brown said, beginning his speechifying. A chorus of good-natured insults erupted, directed at Olaf's fish broth, followed by a round of hearty applause.
"There are sixty-four of us here today," Billy Brown continued, his expression turning sober. "Six weeks ago Piney Creek had a population approaching four hundred souls. Men were finding nuggets; this place was thriving. Then the scourge hit."
Along with the others, Low Down shifted to gaze down at the camp. The empty storefronts made her think of a ghost town. No music tinkled from the saloon doors. Even the assay office was boarded up. A light breeze chased a paper scrap across a trampled section of yellowing grass where campfires had burned before rows and rows of tents. Already wild roses had sprouted where the tents had been. Low Down turned back to Billy Brown with the sad conviction that Piney Creek would never fully recover from the epidemic.
Billy frowned at the bottom of his tin mug. "I guess you men and the men up there in the cemetery braved the pox and stayed for the same reason I did. To protect your claim."
Lifting his head, he stared hard at Low Down. "But one person stayed who didn't have to."
"Well, I had a claim to protect, too," Low Down murmured. It seemed that a guest of honor ought to be a bit modest.
"You ain't found enough gold dust to support a chipmunk," Jake Martin said, leaning to spit a stream of tobacco juice at an anthill. "You coulda left your claim without a backward glance."
"God heard our prayers and gave us an angel of mercy who didn't desert us in our darkest hour."
The breeze blowing off the high peaks felt cool against the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks. She wished Billy Brown would end his speech right here. At the same time she secretly hoped he'd say more good things. Compliments were as rare as finding a nugget
in her pan. She remembered every one that had come her way.
"This person stepped forward to fill our desperate need at great risk to her own health and life."
"Well ..." A guest of honor ought to tell the whole truth even if it put a dent in Billy's speech. "I had the pox as a kid, and someone said you can't get it twice."
Coot Patterson rolled his eyes, then glared at her. "Nobody knows that for sure. Maybe it's true, and maybe it ain't. The point is, you stayed and took care of us when you didn't have to and nobody expected you to. Now shut up and quit kicking at the nice words ole Billy is saying."
"Will you people stop butting into my speech?" Billy Brown snapped. "Now, where was I? All right. Everybody here knows I'm talking about Low Down. If she hadn't fed you, cleaned you, nursed you, most of you would be pushing up grass right now. There weren't no other volunteers, that's for sure."
The cheers almost deafened her, and she didn't know what to do with her hands or where to turn her eyes, and her lips were twitching in a peculiar way. Being a guest of honor was a nerve-wracking affair.
"There's no way to adequately repay you for sticking by us and keeping most of us alive. But every man here agrees that we won't rest until we've expressed our gratitude. We want to do something for you, Low Down. Something big and something nice. Something as important and lasting as what you did for us. So you tell us what you want, and by damn it's yours. Anything at all, you just name it."
Heads nodded, and the men gathered in front of Olaf Gurner's cabin smiled appreciation at her and waited. Cheeks flaming, Low Down waved her beer mug in a gesture of dismissal.
"Hell, boys, I just did what anyone would do, that's all." She tugged the ragged brim of her old felt hat and fidgeted beneath the weight of so much unaccustomed attention. "You've thanked me enough. I never had a party in my honor, and I'll remember this all my life."
"No, sir, a party isn't near enough." Stony Marks pushed forward. "You worked like a dog. You fed us, washed us, forced that vile medicine down our throats. By sheer force of will you made some of us live who would have died if you hadn't bullied us, threatened us, maybe sweet-talked some of us that I don't know about." He waited for the hoots and chuckles to die down.
"But we couldn't have survived if it hadn't been for you, and that's a fact. There must be something you've always dreamed about and wanted. Maybe something you never expected to get. We want to give it to you. We owe you."
Now Frank Oliviti stepped forward, gratitude softening his wrinkled gaze. "First, I want to thank you for not stealing my gold like you threatened." Low Down grinned, waiting out the laughter. "If you want a house instead of that ratty little tent you got, we'll build you
a fine cabin and furniture to go with it. Whatever you want, it's yours."
"If you've always hankered for a pi-ano, we'll go to Denver, buy one, and haul it up here," Billy Brown agreed. "You just tell us your fondest wish, no matter what it is, and we'll make it come true."
Max McCord was next to urge her to accept their gratitude. "Maybe you always wanted to stay in the finest hotel in Denver and eat oysters and drink champagne in a suite. You just say so, Low Down, and we'll make that dream happen."
He didn't look like the same man she'd fed and washed and browbeat. Today Max McCord was so handsome that the sight of him made her feel peculiar inside, like her stomach was on fire. Frowning, she noticed the pox had left a few pits along his jawline, but he wasn't as scarred as some or as vain as the men growing beards to hide the marks. He was clean-shaven, his dark hair trimmed to collar length, and he wore fresh denims and a plaid wool shirt that was almost the same blue as his eyes.
It was while she was staring at Max McCord and wondering about the hot, uncomfortable tightness in her stomach that the idea came to her. There was only one thing in the world that she really, really yearned to have. She doubted it was the kind of thing the prospectors had in mind, but they were urging her to name her fondest wish. They wanted her to have something special that she'd never expected to get. But ...
Preacher Jellison walked up beside her and hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. "These are proud men who owe an honest debt, and they won't rest until they've repaid you. So let them," he advised. "Everybody wants something, Low Down. Now's your chance to have it."
Squinting, she gazed down at the sunlight glittering on the serpentine surface of the river coiling through the valley. This morning she'd seen a family of foxes at the water's edge. The kits were summer-grown, almost ready to leave for territory and dens of their own.
"There is one thing," she said finally. Pulling a hand down her face, she tried to steady her thoughts. "But I don't think ..."
"Let the men decide. Whatever you want, no matter how far-fetched you think it is, you've earned it, and these men are committed to giving it to you."
Sudden hope, hot and fierce, struck her with enough force that she swayed on her feet, feeling light-headed. Everyone was saying that all she had to do was ask
and her dream would come true. This was her chance, maybe the only chance she would ever have. And like the old saying went: If you don't ask, you won't receive.
Billy Brown had been watching, and he knew when she made up her mind. A broad smile widened his beard. "Shut up, everyone. She knows what she wants. What's it going to be, Low Down?"
"I don't know about this," she said in a low voice
to Preacher Jellison. He smiled, squeezed her arm, and urged her to state her wish.
Oh Lord. Well. This opportunity wasn't going to knock twice. Squaring her shoulders, she drew a deep breath and felt the fires in her stomach burn hotter.
An expectant hush stilled the men's voices, and they looked at her with encouraging smiles.
"I want a baby."
"Excuse me?" Preacher Jellison stepped back and stared.
"A baby. That's what I want."
Dead silence met her announcement.
She heard leaves rustling on the aspens, heard the crash of utensils against plates as Olaf dropped a pile of dishes. The silence was so complete that Low Down imagined she heard ants digging tunnels, imagined she could hear her hair growing.
Billy Brown pulled his hat from his head and raked stubby fingers through the thin strands that lay like fence pickets across his scalp. "Well." He glanced at the men staring at Low Down with blank expressions. "This here is a surprise, but nothing we can't handle. Right, boys?" He thought a minute. "There must be some orphans in the camps. We could--"
"No, I don't want someone else's baby. I want a baby of my own." At least no one was laughing at her.
"Aw hell, Low Down." Frank Oliviti frowned. "Are you saying you want one of us to ...?" A mottled red flush climbed the back of his neck, and he kicked at
a clump of columbines. "Damn it. Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a bag of gold?"
She hadn't peered into a mirror in months, but judging from the way every man took a step backward, she decided she must look like hell. And she wasn't a beauty to start with. Nevertheless, she hadn't expected them to be so appalled at the prospect of bedding her. It was damned insulting, that's what it was.
Who the hell were they to be so particular? She'd seen most of them buck naked, and she didn't recall grabbing her heart and swooning over any perfect sculpturelike bodies.
"You asked what I wanted, and I told you," she said, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes. "If you didn't mean what you said, that's fine. I didn't expect anything anyway." She glanced at the angle of the sun. "Let's finish our beer and go back to the diggings. We've still got a few hours of good work light."
"Now, just hold it a minute." Billy Brown faced the men from Olaf's porch and raised his hands. "All right, boys, this ain't what we expected." A chorus of low swearing erupted. "But we did mean what we promised." A threat glittered in his gaze. "We voted on this. We agreed we'd give Low Down whatever she wanted. We made a commitment, and by damn, that hasn't changed."
A rumble of muttering and mumbling rose and fell, then silence returned. A resigned voice inquired, "So what happens next? How do we decide who has to
do it?"
"A volunteer would simplify matters a whole lot." Billy skimmed a hopeful eye over the men, none of whom would look at her. "Do we have a volunteer?"
When no one stepped forward, Low Down felt a wave of heat flood her cheeks. Even her eyes felt hot. "To hell with all of you," she shouted, twisting pride and humiliation into a knot of anger. "I don't want to sleep with any of you either, so just forget it!" She'd never felt so offended in her life.
Worse, she had relied on the wrong proverb. The one she should have remembered stated: Promises are like piecrusts, made to be broken. They hadn't meant it when they told her to pick the thing she wanted most and she could have it.
Preacher Jellison grabbed her arm as she spun to storm down the mountain and back to her tent. "Let me go!"
This was no longer her proudest day. All she wanted to do now was pack up her few belongings, get out of Piney Creek, and pretend these last minutes of stupidity on her part and insult on their part had never happened.
Preacher Jellison held her at arm's length, keeping his body away from her kicking feet and flailing fist. "Shame on you, gentlemen. The angel of mercy who put herself in grave peril to save your worthless hides ..." Pausing, he took a minute to stare into the unhappy gaze of every man present. "... wants a baby."
Billy Brown rose to the occasion. "And by God one of us is going to give her one," he promised grimly, speaking between clenched teeth. "We are going to repay the debt we owe. Aren't we, boys?"
They looked at her now, sliding sidelong glances of speculation in her direction before they looked up at Billy Brown again. A long sigh of resignation skittered down the mountainside like an ill wind.
Stony Marks stepped forward. "I think Low Down is a good-hearted woman, and she might be right tolerable if she was cleaned up some," he said gamely. "But much as I'd like to honor our debt and do my part to repay her for keeping my butt alive, I can't be the man who does the poking. I'm married." He looked to Preacher Jellison to back him up. "It wouldn't be right to ask a married man to sin against his innocent wife."
"Well, damn. He's got a point, Billy." Preacher Jellison tightened his iron grip on Low Down's arm. She tried, but she couldn't pry off his fingers.
"Damned if he don't," Billy Brown agreed unhappily. "But we can cope with this development. You married men step over there beside the big spruce." He counted the bachelors remaining in front of Olaf's porch steps. "All right. We got twenty-three contenders."
"We got twenty-four," Jack Hart said sharply. "McCord, get over here. You ain't married."
Max McCord appealed to Billy Brown and Preacher Jellison. "I'm as good as, since I'm pledged to marry in two weeks, and I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, you ain't wed yet. You wouldn't even be alive to think about getting married if Low Down hadn't nursed your sorry butt back to life. So get on over here with the rest of us!"
For the span of a heartbeat, Low Down thought McCord would refuse. Since she'd read his letter to Miss Philadelphia Houser, she would have understood. But he marched forward with a frown and joined the men waiting in front of the steps. The bach...