Deed to Damnation

All That Glitters

Gold. Of course it was about gold, Ireland thought angrily as she soaked in the fragrant bath. Apparently, when she and Henry were gone, someone had taken the liberty of refurbishing the room, complete with new linens and dainty little bottles of scented oils for her tub. There was a fancy new rug that looked like it came from Mexico, with its rich, burgundy and gold colors and abstract animal shapes. It was undoubtedly Henry's idea, erasing everything that she had created and made her own. And now there was this.
She was learning that the world of Henry Delarue moved quickly from one conquest to the next. Whichever was more lucrative was what he focused on and her inn had fallen to the wayside, the natives' riches more intriguing than a run of the mill brothel in a tiny town. She wondered how many lies he had told to Howling Star to get what he wanted. Were there really men coming or was that an empty warning?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Henry entering the room. She heard him swig from a bottle and lean against the washroom doorway.
"You and Missy have a nice chat?" He asked.
She didn't turn to face him. Instead, she calmly ran the soft wash cloth through her palms and down her arms.
"Yes." She answered casually. "For what little I was allowed to say."
He sipped again and contemplated her. She was so different now, so resigned to her fate. She certainly had come a long way from the frightened yet headstrong woman she was when he acquired her. Right now, she was sitting here basically snubbing him and running her sarcastic mouth. She hadn't even turned to look at him. He moved in closer and leaned against the far wall so he could see her. She was as terrible a liar as her father was a poker player.
"I know she asked." He stated.
Ireland brought her gaze to his. He was inspecting her through the clear, fragrant water and biting his lip. Even in these tense moments she could see his unfettered want and as much as it made her uneasy, it offered her a small sense of power at times.
"She actually guessed." She said, and stood from the bath. "I admitted it of course. She knows everything about you, Henry. She might as well be your wife."
Ireland walked from the washroom into the bedroom, dripping rose scented water across the floor. Henry was hot on her heels and snatched the towel from the bed before she could get her hands on it. He draped it around her shoulders and pulled her into him, pressing her wet skin against his body and tilting her chin up. He wanted her looking him in the eye as she lied to him.
"And that's all?" He asked in a falsely gentle tone.
"If you're asking me if I told her about the visit, there's not much to tell, is there? I was drugged through a good portion of it." She answered.
He let out an amused huff. She wasn't lying about that.
"What are you up to, Henry? It's not just about protecting the natives. I know it's not."
She stated boldly.
Henry cocked an eyebrow.
"You know me, Ireland. I'm a humanitarian." He answered sarcastically. "And I'm a married man now. I figured it's time to settle down and build a homestead for me and my little wife."
He was mocking her and it was infuriating. Before she could retort, he grabbed her face and kissed her roughly.
"What about this place? This is my home." She said when he released her lips.
"Not for long." He grumbled.
She both felt and saw his shift in mood and opted not to push too hard.
"Who will watch these girls when you're gone?"
"You mean when we're gone. I got good men for that." He answered coolly. "So what I suggest you do is get dressed and enjoy Solstice while you can and use your title accordingly."
He left her then and Ireland found herself staring at the back of the closed door. That would have been the perfect opportunity to righteously tell him that this place he was about to callously discard was in fact and law, half hers. She didn't, and not just because she feared his wrath. It was curiosity now. A homestead? She was going to demand to see the building of it because after all, that was going to be half hers too. Gold could be the long awaited sweet icing on the sour lemon pie that life had served her.

Ireland had to admit as beautiful as the wardrobe she now owned was, she felt just as conspicuous as she had when she was with the Cheyenne. No one in Solstice wore clothes like these. No one except the house girls but there was a huge difference. She was treated like Henry Delarue's wife. Wherever she went that brisk afternoon, people were either overly friendly or they crossed the street upon seeing her approach.
Henry had handed her a neatly folded stash of bills and sent her into town to go shopping.
"I don't need anything." She protested, as he ushered her from the building and out to the front porch.
"I've never heard of a woman not finding something to spend money on." He answered.
Soon after, Ireland found herself wandering the town, stopping at the mercantile first. Despite how diminutive Solstice was, Mr. Hanson always made sure to get the latest catalogs and could order just about anything. The shop smelled like cedar and the scent of lavender was traceable in the air as she looked around. It had been a long time she had visited to look at the illustrations in the latest fashion catalogues from the big cities.
"Good day." Mr. Hanson called out, as he came out from the back.
He stopped dead when he saw who his customer was and offered an awkward smile.
"Mrs. Delarue." He said, reaching for the latest catalog.
Ireland looked at the illustrated booklet in his hand and it suddenly dawned on her. She looked down at the crushed velvet midnight blue dress she was wearing. There was no need to peruse the catalogues like she had done once. She was wearing those fashions now and was coming to realize there wouldn't be any joy in that anymore. She didn't have to daydream about what it would be like to wear them.
"Mr. Hanson, please call me Ireland." She quipped. "Just because I'm married now doesn't mean I'm not Ireland anymore."
Ben Hanson's smile was uneasy. He had known her since she was a young girl when she would come to the store to buy sweets and watched her grow into an independent woman that had to babysit her own father. Hanson was no stranger to the illicit poker games and saw Shawn Devereaux lose his shirt on more than one occasion. It was a shame of what transpired for her.
"Of course, Ireland." He answered. 'What can I help you with today?"
Ireland's eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly dipped candles of different colors and the display of delicately painted hurricane lamps. There were neatly folded table cloths to choose from and a gleaming silver tea set tucked discreetly into a corner atop a small round table. She sighed upon seeing it. It was so similar to what she used to serve her guests with.
"Honestly, I don't know." She admitted, her gaze flitting from one knickknack to the next. "I don't know anything anymore."
She said the last part to herself more than to Ben Hanson. It was true. First there was the beautiful autumn dress she was wearing that belonged in a parlor at a plantation in the south not in this little town. And now there was the even harsher realization that there was nothing she needed anymore. There was no use for linen napkins or fine sheets with lush down pillows. What she owned was a brothel now, plain and simple and she was too much of a coward to even stake her claim on it by telling Henry as much.
Her eyes traveled to a partially pried open wooden crate. It was large with a generous amount of straw spilling from the splintered box. Hanson saw where she was looking and spoke.
"That's the latest kitchen stove." He said proudly. "I'm hoping to get more in stock since winter is fast approaching."
It was much fancier, she noticed and certainly in much better shape than the old monstrosity back at home. Plus, it would warm the kitchen wonderfully for Joss who seemed to really love her job as chef to the house residents.
"How much?" She asked.
"Twenty five dollars." He answered.
Hanson didn't expect her to choose something so mundane. Ireland was a wealthy woman now. She hadn't even looked at the fine jewelry in the display case or the selection of fox fur hand muffs he had purchased from a native who came by selling his wares. But he was happy nonetheless. The stove was the most expensive thing in the store at the moment. He was even more thrilled when she inquired about ordering a new potbelly stove for the parlor.
"As it so happens, I have one in the back." He offered. "Pastor Rossini ordered it for the church but since the accident..."
"I would say the church has gotten warm enough." She responded. "I'll take that too."
Ireland was once again reminded of how ironic life's twists could be.
She paid Ben Hanson a total of forty five dollars and he assured her that the items would be brought to the saloon that afternoon if he could find some working backs. He informed her that her husband had most of the town men helping at the mill loading freshly cut wood.
She almost said that it was for his new homestead but caught the words before they slipped off of her tongue. That's all I need, she thought with relief, a quickly spread rumor of Henry Delarue's closely guarded life and he would know it was her that let it out.
"That's fine. The sooner the better though. I don't want the parlor to be chilly like last year." She told him.
"I would think you really wouldn't care about that anymore." Ben said, as she turned to go.
It stopped her dead and she spun on her heel.
"Excuse me?" She hissed. "What did you just say?"
Ireland's already chilly demeanor had turned even icier and the color drained from the merchant's face.
"What I mean is..it's just that the residents..and the patrons are.." He stammered.
"Are what?" She demanded. "Unworthy of adequate heat in the dead of a Wyoming winter?"
"Well, they're certainly different than the folks who used to frequent your inn." He stated.
"I see. So only privileged travelers deserve comfort?" She spat angrily. "Interesting coming from a man that had no problem gambling after hours with my own father."
Hanson looked as if she had slapped him in the mouth.
"It was not that long ago you would have agreed with me." He snipped. "Actually, I'm not the only one in town that sees what you've become."
It was Ireland's turn to be outraged.
"If anything, I've become a wiser person, Mr. Hanson." She retorted. "I've learned that life brings very unfortunate circumstances and you make certain adjustments just to survive. My residents, as you call them, deserve to be treated as well if not better than the average person. It's people like you that could never understand what being less fortunate is really like. You were the wealthiest man in town. You were. Now I expect those stoves today or I'll send my husband to retrieve them personally and I'll be sure to let him know exactly what you think of his wife."
She left him them, hopefully scrambling to find someone to help him move those stoves. As long as he thought she would be telling Henry of their little conversation, she was sure they would be delivered within the hour. The truth was, she wasn't going to tell him. She wasn't going to tell him because she didn't want Henry Delarue fighting her battles for her and secondly, Ben Hanson had been right. She had changed and she couldn't decide whether it was for better or for the worse.