Eden's Sin

  Eden's Sin

  By

  Jennifer Jakes

  She’s a sinner, but he’s no saint…

  Chapter One

  Ladore, Kansas,

  May 15, 1870

  Rain, rain, rain.

  Eden Gabrielli stared out the saloon window. The droning downpour seemed never ending. Memories flooded as fast as the creek south of town. Memories swirled in her mind— good, bad. Happy. Sad.

  Odd how one simple sound like rain brought back two distinctly different memories. A rainy spring day spent hiding in the warm kitchen, a stolen cookie in her pocket, waiting for Mama to finish work. A sleety winter night, crouching in an alleyway, Mama crying, trying to keep them from freezing to death.

  “A woman with no money is better off dead.” Eden let Mama's long-ago warning run through her mind as she cleared dirty plates from the corner table and listened to the drops pelt the tin roof. The words kept her going when she was tired, when her bad leg ached. When she wanted to just lie down and weep.

  The memory of sleeping under Mama's thread-bare cloak in December always gave her strength. The weight of those who depended on her kept her moving—two young girls she could keep from a life of whoring.

  “Whoo-ee!” Hank slammed shut the saloon door against the gusting wind, shocking Eden from her painful thoughts.

  “Hank. You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Most sorry, Miz Eden.” He shook like a wet dog and limped to the bar. “If'n it rains much more we're gonna need an ark.” He gave a near toothless grin.

  “We don't need a damned report, Hank,” Len cursed from the large center table. “We got eyes. And ears.” He nodded to the window where rain streamed down the glass, cocooning the room and holding the railroad men from laying track.

  For five days the clouds gave water as if God was squeezing a wet towel, and the men became more edgy each day that passed without work.

  Hank scowled. “Just makin’ conversation. Ain't no need to be so hateful.” He climbed onto a stool. “Miz Eden, can I have some coffee? And add a liberal amount of whiskey. I'm chilled right down to my big toes.”

  Eden glanced down to where his sock wiggled through the worn leather. Shaking her head, she pulled the coffee pot from the hot cast iron stove and filled Hank's cup. “You don't need whiskey. You need boots without holes in them.” He needed a boss who cared more about people than money. How could Stevens and Parsons sit inside their lavish railcars – Stevens in his new car – and watch men like Hank do without basic necessities?

  Not that she expected more from either greedy man. One thing and one thing only mattered to the rich. Getting richer. No matter who they hurt, or starved, or put out in the streets – or into alleyways. More than once, her life had been tossed out the door on a rich man's whim.

  Even now, one rich man controlled her. Damn him. Damn them all.

  Hatred burned through her, propelling her to act.

  “Hank, come with me.” She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen. Once there she reached under the pie cupboard to the loose floorboard, pulled out her money box, and withdrew three dollars. “Here.” She placed the bills into his cold hands. “Go over to the mercantile and get yourself some new boots. You're going to get sick and die walking around like that. Or else one of the McGrady Gang will drop a rail-tie on your toe.”

  Hank blushed. “Miz Eden, I can't be takin’—”

  “Oh, yes you can. I figure you've spent plenty of money drinking here. Think of it as the day you get something worthwhile in return.” She pointed him to the main room. “Now go. I'll save you a bowl of potato soup.” Hank was too skinny to be carrying buckets on the rail line. Too skinny, too old…he'd fall over dead someday, and as far as she knew, he had nobody who would care.

  Everyone should have at least one person who cared. Everyone. Even old drunks and whores.

  They walked back to the bar room amid wolf whistles and calls. “Gaul-durn, Hank, you must screw a lot faster than you walk to be done with her already.” Len sneered at his own humor, and several men laughed.

  “You shut your filthy mouth. Miz Eden done—”

  Eden shook her head. “Ignore them. Go on now. We'll see you later.” It was no one's business how she spent her money. Best if people believed she was a hard-hearted woman. Best for her if she could be. Then no one could hurt her again.

  She rubbed her leg, the ache real, though whether it was the rain or bad memories stirring the pain she couldn't say. Grabbing a towel, she made her way through the tables, swiping crumbs, collecting empty plates and dodging ass-grabbers.

  “That's a dollar, Len, if I feel your hand crawling up my skirt again.”

  The big man scowled. “Why does Hank get some for free?”

  “Who says he didn't pay?”

  Len scoffed. “That stupid bastard don't have no money.”

  An angry retort scorched her tongue. Len was a mean drunk, cruel to any man smaller, poorer or just unfortunate enough to be in his line of fire. He was proof that not only rich men were evil.

  “Well, what I do or how much I charge is none of your business.” Not anyone's business. Hell, she hadn't sold more than drinks and dances for almost two years now. Not since St. Louis. Not since the day she was almost killed.

  “Well, you may have to lower prices,” Len snapped. “The only men drawing pay in this weather is the McGrady Gang…and those crazy fools would work if a twister was bearing down on them.”

  “True enough.” There weren't harder working men than Cormac McGrady’s cuttin’ crew. “But I'm not lowering prices. You'll just have to manage your funds better.”

  Eden glanced out the window. The rain didn't hurt the saloon. Men who couldn't work still had to eat and still wanted to drink. Besides, she couldn't afford to lower her prices. Not with the amount of money she had to send to the school every month.

  “Bring me a shot of whiskey, Eden. It’ll be dessert.” Floyd pushed his empty plate away and held up his glass. “Som'thin to keep me warm the rest of the day. And I’ll need Judge Parsons’ luncheon plate for when I go.”

  She wove her way to Floyd’s table.

  “Stevens and Parsons will clean your craw if they smell whiskey on you before noon.” And she couldn’t chance him being fired as Parsons’ butler and valet. He was too useful...overheard too much, saw too much. Without Floyd, she’d be forced to seducing Parsons to get what she needed.

  “Naw. The judge got more important things to worry 'bout than me.” Floyd gave a lopsided grin.

  “Oh? Like what?” Damn. Just last night he’d had no useful information. Something must have happened this morning, and Floyd was nosy enough to eaves-drop.

  “You know Parsons. He makes enemies more’n friends.”

  “He’s in trouble again?” Interrogating Floyd was wrong, but necessary. If she didn’t report the information she gleaned from his drunken words, her sister’s life was over.

  “Ahhh, well…I really shouldn’t say.”

  Eden draped her free arm over his boney shoulder and winked. “Let me get you another drink. You deserve one more before you get back to work, don’t you agree?” she drawled.

  He grinned, licking his lips as if anticipating his next glass – just as she hoped he would.

  “Good.” She hurried to the bar, trying to out-run the guilt, grabbed a bottle and poured him another shot. “Now tell me what’s got Judge Parsons all stirred up?”

  “Them.” Floyd pointed out the window to the muddy street. A line of soaked soldiers rode by, each leaning into the slanting rain, twenty men at least, followed by a wagon full of supplies. “Parsons had to ask the President for help. The Katy’s investors are furious, squawking about misplaced funds.”

  “Why?”
r />   “All the robberies. Can't stand to lose anymore payroll or supplies. Those rich men are none too happy with the judge. The Army’s here to stop the thieves and keep the new rails moving forward.” Floyd swallowed his drink and sighed.

  Dread dropped into her stomach like a cold stone. The railroad progress had to stop …or at least slow down enough to let the Joy Line win the race. Had to! Joy had to win. Those were the senator’s orders – her part, to feed the payroll delivery information to the senator’s hired thieves. But the Army meant trouble. The last thing she needed was someone figuring out why the robbers were so accurate. And yet…she wandered to the window. The Army could mean justice.

  If the soldiers were to keep peace and establish order while they were here, then maybe they would investigate Mary Rose’s rape. No one else would. And seeing Mary slip into melancholy more and more each day was like watching her slowly die. If the rapist was found, maybe Mary could regain her strength and move on with her life.

  Eden’s heart sputtered just a little. But if the senator found out she was talking to the Army, he’d make good on his threat.

  Careful. She’d have to be careful. But she couldn’t let another rape go unpunished.

  She nudged Floyd. “Will the soldiers have legal say over what happens in Ladore? For a crime?”

  He poured another glassful and downed it before nodding. “Far as I know. Parsons told Stevens to get things straight or else. But Eden,” the balding man shook his head, “I doubt even the Army is going to do anything about Mary Rose. Parsons called in a favor to get these soldiers. They'll do what they're told.”

  “Maybe.” But she had to try. Hope pulsed through her veins. Somehow she’d convince the commanding officer to help. “Thank you, Floyd.”

  Eden peeled off her apron and ran through the kitchen on the way to her room. “Alice,” she called out to the porch where the woman was bent over the scrub board. “I've got to change and go out for awhile. Get the soup bubbling and keep an eye on Mary Rose for me. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Where you going?” Alice poked her graying head inside, her hands soapy from the washtub.

  “To find justice.”

  ***

  Eden smoothed the skirt of her plain brown calico dress and patted her tightly braided bun, draping her woolen shawl over her head. She had to appear a reputable lady of town or else she didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of convincing some Army man to hear her out.

  Men, especially those in power, didn't respect whores.

  The rain had slowed to a drizzle, hanging in the air like a fog. The smell of smoke and manure circled in the air, and she shuddered at the damp breeze. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped off the boardwalk onto the muddy street. Biting back a curse, she tried not to limp. The last thing she wanted was questions from the soldier.

  She dropped her gaze and hurried toward the end of town.

  Down the street, the sound of men barking orders and hammering tent stakes echoed from the empty lot beside the livery now filled with horses.

  Swallowing her doubt, she strode toward the camp.

  Would she stoop to lying to claim help for Mary? Yes, why not? Heap yet another sin upon her head. Whatever it took to find justice. At this point murder was the only wicked deed she hadn’t committed—though there were men who tempted her to do just that. Two in this town alone. Judge Parsons one, Henry Stevens the other.

  Parsons had already made it clear he had no intention of pursuing the man who raped Mary Rose—a whore in the making. The hateful phrase burned through Eden each time she replayed the scene. He refused to lose the man-power for a search. He didn't want to know if one of his workers committed the crime. Not that she suspected the McGrady Gang. Cormac's men were the most upstanding men in town. Possibly the only upstanding men in town. But the stragglers who hopped from the Joy line to the Katy, always searching for the higher pay wage, those men were cruel drifters with no morals and no conscience. And she intended to see the man guilty of destroying Mary Rose’s innocence prosecuted.

  She wove her way through the muddy row of tents already standing, to a large wall-tent at the end of a military street. Poking her head inside the open flap, she spied two men unpacking satchels and setting up a foldable wooden table.

  “Excuse me.” She cleared her throat and spoke again. Louder. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

  Both men turned, the taller planting a worn, wet hat onto his dark head. Damp hair, a little too long, curled around his ears.

  Her heart pounded, but she swallowed and stood up straighter. Too late to turn back now.

  “Yes, Ma'am. Come in. What can we do for you?” His voice was, deep, strong, but not harsh. There was a lot to be known about a man through his voice. Not his words. Words were lies, more times than not. But if a woman knew how to listen, she could learn with what kind of man she dealt. This one she felt, she hoped against hope, was fair.

  “I need a word with your commander.” She forced her voice to stay calm, sound refined, the kind of soft elegance she'd learned so many years ago. “Would that be you, sir?” Stepping inside, she dropped the shawl to rest around her shoulders and tried to paste a respectable expression on her face.

  “That would be me, Major Bradford, at your service.” He walked toward her, long, lean, a rare handsomeness. She swallowed hard. Damn, why did he have to be handsome? She didn't want to notice a man ever again. Not as long as she lived. The last handsome man she trusted tried to kill her.

  “And your name, Miz…?”

  “Miz Gabrielli.” She glanced at the other soldier. “And I'd like a private word if that would be possible.”

  Major Bradford nodded. “Corporal Ballard, go see how the other men are faring. I want camp set up before dark. Duties commence at dawn.”

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier snapped a quick salute and stepped out of the tent.

  Major Bradford gave a crooked grin. “Excuse the disorganization. We haven't finished setting up camp yet.” He moved a stack of papers to the table, then found an empty crate and flipped it upside down. “Take a seat and tell me what I can help you with.”

  Her insides clenched. She should have practiced what she would say. Intelligence lit Major Bradford's brown eyes. Too many questions would reveal who and what she was, what she did.

  Eden sucked in a fortifying breath and shuffled over to perch on the crate. She'd come this far already. “Are you in charge of keeping the law in Ladore now?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I am. At least until the railroad is built. Why?”

  “I need to report a crime.”

  His brow lifted, but he pulled a crate to his desk and sat across from her. “Tell me what's happened.”

  Eden leaned forward and tapped her finger on his desk. “A rape has happened, sir.”

  Major Bradford's eyes widened. He grabbed a sheet of paper and dug a stubby pencil from his satchel. “Let's start. Were you …” A tick twitched along his jaw, a flush crawling up his neck. “Were you the woman … accosted?”

  “No, not me. Mary Rose, the girl who helps cook and do laundry for the Devil's Gate Saloon. She was raped three weeks ago at the crossroads outside town.” Eden fisted her hands, frustrated anger pulsing through her. “Major, she's only fifteen years old.”

  He scribbled on the paper. “Three weeks ago? Did you report this?”

  “Yes. The night it happened. I told Henry Stevens and Judge Parsons, the railroad men.”

  “And what did they do?”

  “Nothing.”

  Major Bradford looked up, his dark brows climbing to his hairline. “Nothing? How can they do nothing?”

  Eden swallowed hard. Careful. “Mary Rose laundered the sheets for the …brothel girls. But Parsons said Mary was a whore in the making, and a whore can’t be raped.”

  “Horse's ass.” The curse was a mere whisper but Major Bradford's face colored as if he'd shouted. “Begging your pardon, Miz Gabrielli. I apologize.” He started writing a
gain.

  But the muttered insult filled Eden with hope. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't afraid of Parsons. Maybe she could trust this man. A little. Or at least as much as any man could be trusted.

  He probably wasn't rich since his belongings seemed to consist of what had been placed on his cot – his saddlebag, a blanket, a pillow and a harmonica that looked like a horse had stepped on it.

  “Major,” Eden reached across the table and stilled his pencil, “Mary Rose is not a whore. She's a young girl left in an impossible situation. Her father was killed six months ago in an accident. All she wanted to do was go to school in Kansas City.” The money had already been sent from Eden's account. Mary had been so excited she'd practically floated through the days. “She was supposed to leave next week. Now she won't even get out of bed.”

  His gaze stayed on her as he nodded. But behind that gaze wheels turned, questions formed. His eyes narrowed. He glanced to her left hand. Searching for a wedding ring? The thought nearly made her laugh. She would never be so stupid as to think a man would marry her. Not ever again.

  “Are you Mary Rose's…guardian?”

  “I suppose, though not legally.” She just couldn't stand to let another young girl's life be ruined by circumstance. “No one else in town seemed to care if she lived or died on the street, so I let her stay with me.”

  Not even the good Reverend or his mother offered to take in Mary. They'd turned her away on a January night when the wind howled and the snow drifted ass-deep.

  “Do you have any ideas who did this to her?”

  “No. It was dark and Mary Rose refuses to speak. I’ve asked her. She did scribble on paper that the man had whiskers and a Southern accent. But that could be anyone.” Eden heaved a long sigh. “There are hundreds of men working in this area at any given time. I know it might be foolish to think the rapist can be identified, but surely justice demands the effort be made.”

  Major Bradford nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I’ll start making inquiries today. And I'd like to see Mary Rose when she feels up to it.”

  No! Eden shook her head, forcing a calmness she didn't feel. “She won't leave the – her room.” Good Lord. She'd almost said the saloon. “And I don't think she'd feel comfortable in the company of a man right now. Not even you.”