Three sisters had been in Austin two months waiting for their supplies to arrive so that they could open a dress shop. Though they smiled at Rainey, they were boredom in triplicate with dull eyes and hair in different stages of graying.
The last woman was in her late thirties and introduced herself as Mrs. Dottie Davis. She wore widow's black and nibbled at her food while the others were being introduced.
As soon as Margaret Ann finished her duty of introducing everyone, she sat down and, like the others, began eating. Rainey followed suit, noticing the food, though simple, was well prepared. Compared to the meals on the train and the ship, this looked like a feast.
After a few minutes Widow Davis broke the silence by asking if Rainey knew the history of the Askew House.
'No,' Rainey answered. This entire town seemed far too new to have much history.
'Then I must tell you,' the widow whispered.
'Not the murder of Lora again,' Margaret Ann protested. 'How can you keep telling that story when we don't know what really happened?'
Widow Davis pouted. 'Lora was too young to be traveling alone, if you ask me. That was her first mistake'-she raised one eyebrow and stared at Rainey-'and maybe her last.'
The closest of the three sisters agreed, then poked Rainey and added, 'About your age. We heard the story from a woman who lived here the night it happened. Miss Lora was young with doe eyes and hair so blond it looked almost silver.'
Widow Davis interrupted. 'She came to marry a Frenchman back in forty-nine just before half the men in America went crazy over the gold rush. Poor child barely spoke English and didn't know enough to come in out of the rain. They say the man she was to have married still paces in front of the Askew House some nights as if hoping for an answer to exactly what happened to his bride even though it's been years.'
Mrs. Vivian was busy serving dinner to her guests and showed no interest in the story. Maybe she'd heard it one too many times.
The widow talked on while she chewed. 'A few of us remember like it was yesterday and not five years ago. Mrs. Vivian had just started the place and my Henry was still alive. We had a restaurant down a few blocks.' The chubby woman lowered her voice as the landlord left the room. 'Seems like I remember Mrs. Vivian's husband and only son went missing down near Galveston a few months before. She had to make a living somehow, so she opened the house to women only.'
Rainey smiled at the phrase. 'Did they ever come back from missing?'
Everyone who understood English at the table shook their head, but one of the three sisters answered, 'Not yet. We heard the husband died. If you talk to Mrs. Vivian, her son is due back any minute. Some say he just went to California and will never came back.'
The widow agreed. 'My Henry used to say both Miss Vivian's husband and her grown son were meaner than skunks. Never worked at nothing but being no good.'
'What happened to the French girl?' Rainey pulled the conversation back on track. 'How was she murdered?'
Grace, the oldest of the sisters, answered, 'I've asked around and no one seems to know. All they found was her ivory dressing gown, hanging neatly on the back porch.'
'Then how do you know she was murdered?' If all the women hadn't looked so pale, she would have thought they were kidding her.
'Blood,' the widow said. 'There was blood trailing all along one side of the alley. Lots of blood, running from building to building, as if someone had dipped a wide paintbrush in a tub of crimson.' Everyone except the two German women leaned closer as she continued. 'They said all her things, her clothes, her shoes, even her brush and comb were still in her room looking as if she might have just stepped out for a moment. The only thing missing was a small chest of valuables she'd brought as a wedding gift from her parents.'
The talkative sister picked up the story. 'They never found so much as a lock of her hair. No one reported seeing or hearing anything that night, but that little bedroom on the third floor has been hard to rent ever since.'
'My room,' Rainey whispered, but no one seemed to hear.
The widow shook her head at one of the old maid sisters. 'How could she have been killed and no one hear? It gives me chills in the night, it does. People die in this town sometimes, but not like that. Not with their blood marking the alley.'
They finished the meal and all said their good nights. Rainey climbed to her room and watched from her window. The three sisters made a trip to the privy together, with two standing guard while one went inside.
For them the alley was an evil place to be feared, but Rainey couldn't help but wonder how much of the story was true. A young woman going out back at night-maybe. Folding up her dressing gown and placing it on the porch while she crossed to the privy-very unlikely. Someone killing her and dragging her bloody body down the alley without anyone seeing or hearing anything-impossible.
Judging from the noise, the alley was almost as busy as the street.
She leaned out the window. A drunk was settling down in the corner of the saloon's porch. Two girls with feathers in their hair were smoking and complaining. It was too dark to tell if they were the same two she'd seen earlier. A few houses down, a man with a wagon appeared to be unloading barrels. He swore each time he strained.
At nine she heard the doors to the boardinghouse being locked. Not wanting to waste the one candle, Rainey dressed for bed in her new nightgown and settled in, listening to the voices below. As she drifted into sleep, she thought of Travis McMurray and wondered how he was doing.
Sometimes, when she thought of him, she decided he seemed the only real thing in her make-believe world. He'd been so solid. For the short time she'd been with him, she felt as if she wasn't invisible.
She wished she'd stayed a little longer by his side that last time. His arm had felt so good around her shoulder. She wouldn't have bothered him, but she might have spread her hand out on his chest just to make sure he was breathing normally and not in too much pain.
Her last thought was that she must be crazy to dream of a man she barely knew. But she couldn't help wishing she'd touched him, or that he'd touched her.
At dawn Rainey began her search for employment. After wearing trousers for weeks, she found that her skirt seemed heavy and cumbersome. The heat of the day made her feel like she was melting inside all the layers of material. By midafternoon she decided to abandon her quest early and return to her small room on the third floor of the Askew House.
She found the three sisters in the drawing room planning their store. Mrs. Vivian sat in the office working on her books. When Rainey said hello, the landlord looked surprised that anyone would bother greeting her.
'Mrs. Vivian, I was wondering why you named this place the Askew House?' she asked just to make conversation.
Mrs. Vivian looked pleased. 'My maiden name was Askew. When my husband returns, I plan to change the name.' The thin woman straightened and held her head high. Loneliness surrounded her, and Rainey guessed that she knew her man would never return but chose to live the lie.
Rainey didn't dare ask how long he'd been gone. The son also seemed a topic no one addressed to Mrs. Vivian.
Once in her room, Rainey cried into her pillow, feeling as if she'd spent a lifetime alone. When she'd been a child her mother had never had time to talk to her, her father never bothered unless he was angry, and the other girls at school considered her beneath their station so never offered friendship. Now it seemed she'd made it all the way to Texas and found only lonely people populated the state.
She tried to see one good thing. At least on the third floor she couldn't hear the clock that chimed in the foyer every hour. If she had her way she'd never live by the sound of a clock again. For as long as she could remember, her father had insisted every detail follow a schedule.
Rainey let her mind drift back to her life before. The order to it all, the boredom. Now she couldn't believe she'd let it go on for so long without saying or doing something, but she'd been afraid of what might happen with change. Boredom had been bearable, change frightening.
Finally, exhausted, she drifted off to sleep and almost missed dinner. She ran down the stairs not realizing until
