Devils Unto Dust(10)

“Miss Wilcox,” the Judge says in his deep, cultured voice. He emphasizes the Miss, and already I am annoyed. But I try not to scowl, as it will only encourage him to bait me further.

“Your Honor.”

“I assume you’ve come to pay your dues?” He gazes at me with disinterest, like I am of no more consequence than a horsefly, a look he has perfected.

“Yessir.” I dig in my belt for the twenty dollars and hold it out. The Judge nods to the man on his right, who takes the money from me and hands it to the Judge. He doesn’t even bother to count it; I reckon it’s nothing to him. He’s rich enough to leave Glory, to sit pretty in some place out west. He stays because he wants to, because here he doesn’t have to bother pretending to be a decent man. None of them do.

I swallow hard. “I also—well, I wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

I can’t seem to get the words out right. “I was hoping—I heard it was possible—”

“Spit it out, girl.”

“I would like to take out a line of credit with you, sir.”

“Would you?” The Judge sits back in his chair, and he can’t keep a smug smile off his face.

“I need—well, my father left me with a debt, and I intend to pay it off.”

“And how much is this debt?”

“Four hundred dollars.”

“That wouldn’t be the money your father stole from Angus McAllister, would it?”

My cheeks flush and I duck my head. He knows damn well what the answer is, he just wants me to admit it; I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I see. Well, honorable as your intentions may be, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” He’s enjoying this, and I count to five in my head before I answer.

“Please, Your Honor. I have three younger siblings.”

“If you think appealing to my better nature will change my mind, you’re wrong. I am not a charitable man.”

“I’m not asking for charity,” I spit at him. Then I take a deep breath, trying to regain control. It’s almost physically painful to say, but I get it out. “Please, sir. I’m begging you.” The words leave a sour taste in my mouth.

“Miss Wilcox, I do not lend money to people who cannot pay it back.”

“I will,” I tell him. “I give you my word.”

The Judge raises his thick brows mockingly. “Oh? And how will you manage that? Are you looking for Pearl to find you a place? I suppose you’re not hard on the eyes, if you would fill out some.”

The men snicker amongst themselves, and there’s a prickling at the back of my neck. My fingernails dig into my palms as I leash my building temper. I have to try. For Micah and the twins I have to try.

“If you won’t lend me the money, then you could talk to McAllister. Ask him to see reason.”

“Your father stole money from the man; he has the right to demand satisfaction.”

“Not from me,” I say through clenched teeth.

“As I understand it, your father has made himself unavailable. Perhaps you should take it up with him instead of sniffing around at me.”

“Please—”

“Miss Wilcox, I am not interested in your tears or your pretty pleas. Whatever trouble you’ve stepped in, it does not concern me.”

I open my mouth and the Judge holds up a meaty hand.

“We’re done here,” he orders, and one of the men stands up and reaches for my arm to escort me away.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap at him, yanking my arm back.

“On second thought, perhaps Pearl wouldn’t want you after all,” the Judge says, and his men laugh again.

“I’ll turn to whoring the day you get a woman for free.” The words are out before I can stop them.

“Watch your mouth, girl.” The hunter who took my money leans forward menacingly. The Judge raises a hand in warning, and the man falls back restlessly.

“You are young, and foolish. I will forgive you your impudence this once. Good day, Miss Wilcox.” If anything, his smile has gotten smugger, but there is no mistaking the calculated hatred in his eyes.

I turn my back on him very deliberately and walk to the safety of the bar, welcoming the noise to drown out the thought in my head: that was my only chance, and I blew it all to pieces.





8.


That was woefully stupid. I sit at the bar stiffly, admonishing myself. Maybe if I hadn’t lost my temper I could’ve convinced him. To make me feel doubly bad, my friend Clementine is coming toward me, and she’s the very kind of girl I just slighted.

“I thought that was you, Willie,” Clementine says with her dimpled smile, her hair curling just so to frame her wide face. Clem is everything I am not: small and soft, her skin all cream and sugar. She’s lovely, even with her face all done up in white and pink and red. She hugs me gently and I smell flowers. I’m suddenly all too aware of the dirt under my fingernails and the fact that I can’t remember the last time I brushed my hair.

“Hi, Clem. I didn’t see you there.”

“I was upstairs. It’s been forever since I seen you, Willie.”

What Clem doesn’t say is why; she’s been working for Pearl for almost two years, ever since her parents died on the road. Things haven’t been easy between us since. Clem thinks I look down on her, for choosing this work, but it isn’t that at all; it scares me to see her here and to know how easily I could fall into this life, too.