32
Aut vincere aut mori.
Either to conquer or to die
Thevolunteer fire brigade arrives, but the men just stand by their wagons andwatch the mansion rage. The Revels is a lost cause, and everyone knows it. NoahKelly is only a few minutes behind them, and I hear the fear in his voice frommy place in the well. He calls for me until Willard yells that I’m all right, juststuck in a hole. Kelly laughs quietly at this.
Little Hawk has already bound the still-unconscious Sim,leaving him in a heap by the barn. He also knots a loop in a rope and throws itdown to me. The loop feels like a huge noose, but I slip the thing over my headand tuck it under my arms. Kelly and Willard pull me up. The handyman snickerswhen he sees my camisole and drawers, but Kelly just gives me his coat. Afterborrowing a bucket from the fire brigade, he dips his handkerchief into thewater and washes the ash from my face.
Willard disappears to wherever it is Willard goes, and Kellytakes me home to his housekeeper. She and I become close acquaintances over thenext hour as the old woman helps me clean myself. Kerosene is difficult toremove from one’s hair, and even now, after so much scouring, I still smellvaguely of table lamp.
My borrowed nightgown and robe belong to the rotund housekeeperand swim about my body like a school of fish. This kindly lady introduces me toKelly’s daughter—a decidedly awkward encounter. Alice seems like a shy child andsince her father is over at the jail with Simmons Harrow, the last thing she wantsto do is entertain a strange guest. Particularly the person who kept her fatheraway in Ironwood City for two months.
Alice joins me at the kitchen table and asks the housekeeperfor a bowl of bread and milk, exactly the snack I’m having. It isn’t acompanionable meal. No words at all from Alice, even when I smile at her. Theonly sound is the scooping up of soggy bread. After I’ve finished, thehousekeeper shows me to a bedroom, but I don’t sleep well. Now that my opium supplyis gone, I long for it. At four in the morning, I think of waking Kelly toconfide my drug dependency to him and seek his advice. But I can’t bring myselfto do it, not when he might think less of me for my condition.
And he probably wouldn’t give me any opium anyway, the do-gooder.
I eventually drift into slumber, until the sound of a carriagewakes me up. Is that one of Kelly’s patients? Must be. The woman says she’s inpain after having a tooth pulled. They talk for a while and then he gives her asmall dose of laudanum. He had some? Why didn’t I try and find it? Criminy!It’s the last in his possession, he says. I hear Kelly toss the container intothe trash.
“Have your husband buy more laudanum at the pharmaceuticalemporium, if you feel you need more. But if your condition grows worse, pleasecome back.”
His patient leaves and Kelly follows soon after to walk Aliceto school. I rise from the bed and check a nearby chair for clothing of somekind, but it is empty. I expected one of the housekeeper’s dresses, since allmy own were ruined in the fire, but there is nothing at my disposal but hercotton wrapper. I open the wardrobe, run my hands over the clothes inside, andfind it filled with suits, overcoats, and shirts. Citrus, cinnamon, pine, andsandalwood—they all smell of Kelly. I should have noticed it before. The wholeroom carries his scent.
At the moment, any odor makes me ill, and I dry heave into myhand. Tremors shake my body, sweat runs down my neck. Damnation. Desperate forrelief, I grab one of Kelly’s shirts, followed by a pair of trousers, a belt,and some boots. I scramble into the clothes, cinching the belt tight androlling up the trouser legs. Last night I worried what Kelly would think of meif he knew of my addiction, but I care less now. I scoop a handful of coinsfrom a bowl on the dresser and shove them into my pocket. Deus miserere.It might not be enough. I need more.
Leaning against a wall for support, I heave and heave at eachstep on the stairs, but nothing comes from my mouth except a string of spittle,which I wipe on the doctor’s shirt. I regain my equilibrium, and listen for thehousekeeper, worried she heard my retching. No. She’s humming to herself andbaking a cake in the kitchen. This clears the way to Kelly’s office.
I am somewhat remorseful as I negotiate the unfamiliar room,hands outstretched, intent on stealing from my friend. But the wildness ofIronwood still remains despite Kelly’s efforts to tame me. I’ll explain the theftto him later. Another day—when the urge isn’t so strong, and I have morecontrol over my body.
Kelly’s boots are too big for my feet, and I catch a toe on achair leg. My arms spin through the air like a whirligig in order to savemyself from a fall. I grasp at the corner of his desk, a drowning sailor on histhird trip down, but I bump into something on the floor and stumble to myknees. The object is square, tin. The trash receptacle? I shake it gently andhear a clink, the sound of a little bottle shifting within the metal can. In atrice, the bottle’s in my fist and a single drop of laudanum hits my tongue. Nothingelse, just one blasted drop, even though I whack the bottle repeatedly. Liftingmy head, I check that the housekeeper is still in the kitchen. Yes. Working oncake.
After pulling myself up, I hold on to the desk until thedizziness passes. Then I reach for the middle drawer, the one from which Kellytook money for Alice’s new school books. I heard him count out two bills andgive them to her. The drawer opens smoothly and I reach inside. Papers, a ledger,fountain pens, mints. Where’s the blasted money?
My hand brushes something soft. Leather, rectangular—a billfold. I
