Guiding Alice Chapter One By Alice Liddell


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Depths of Desire
Chapter One
By Carolyn Faulker
© copyright 2007 By Carolyn Faulkner and ABCD Webmasters








Mary Rose laid her
cheek on her broom, leaning lazily against it in front of the
pile of dust she’d just carefully collected, looking dreamily
off into the gritty, brown distance. Dust was the one and only
constant in Clementine, New Mexico. Everything else was up for
grabs. Clementine was a boom town – someone found a tiny mite
of gold in the Verde river a few years ago, and since then, she
guessed, every man, woman, and child for miles around –and from
as far away as the East Coast, where she was from – had descended
on the tiny town, stretching both its geographical limits and
its fortunes almost to the breaking point.
But Mary Rose hadn’t come out here to the desert to find gold
– which was a good thing, since no one had found any since that
old miner’s anemic strike – she’d come out to help her Uncle –
and her Aunt, she supposed uncharitably - run a dry good store.
Uncle Shep had been the sole reason for the couple’s exodus from
their comfortable but not lavish digs in Virginia to the wilds
of New Mexico. Aunt Alma had had to tag along for the ride, of
course – yammering and complaining all the way, Mary Rose was
undeniably sure.
Uncle Shep was one of Mary Rose’s favorite people of all time.
He was unfailingly kind and gentle, and saw the humor and goodness
in almost anything. He was the exact opposite of the woman he’d
chosen to tie himself to, and the family had frankly scoffed when
he’d gotten the idea in his head to move his relatively profitable
dry goods and general store to the heathen-filled West.
But Shep had known exactly what he wanted as soon as he’d seen
the flyer calling for people to come west and make their fortune.
What better place to set up a new venture than the frontier? He’d
argue. Didn’t people out there need the things he had to offer
much more so than his current customers, who could go to at least
one other merchant in their small town, and many more if they
were willing to travel a little to a larger city? He’d always
had the wanderlust, but never been able to indulge it, and he
made up his mind that, before he was too old to do it – even though
most of his well meaning relatives would tell him that he was
already too old to do it - he was gonna strike out and cross the
country with everything he could think of that would help seed
a store crammed into the wagon – so much so that there was barely
room for the two of them and their meager personal provisions.
Less than a year later, Mary Rose’s father had received a letter
inviting her out to stay with them. Uncle Shep had threatened
to do that the whole time he was preparing to leave. He was gonna
miss his niece something terrible. �śAs if we’re going to let her
go and get scalped by those Injuns,” her father had surmised before
reading the next sentence. �śFilthy heathens.”
�śRead the letter, Al,” her mother had admonished, eyes rolling
discreetly as their housekeeper, Anna, filled her husband’s bowl
with hearty beef stew.
�śNothing out there but tumbleweed and dirt and savages – �ś
�śRead the letter, Al,” Sarah Caldwell urged gently, but without
much hope that her husband would respond to her soft prompt.
Across the table, Mary Rose had grinned. Her parents were so set
in their ways. It was funny to watch them - sometimes. Other times
it could be incredibly annoying. It was her Uncle’s next sentence
that got them:
Please tell Al that there are no filthy heathen savages out here
any more.
Uncle Shep knew his brother all too well. The main point of his
letter was to encourage Mary Rose to come out. She had always
been his favorite niece, and he missed her company – especially
considering who he was left with. Shep and Mary Rose had played
chess together – badly – and he’d had even been able to bully
his stodgy older brother into letting Mary Rose sit in on one
of his famous poker nights . . . well, he’d been able to work
around his brother about it anyway, simply by inviting Mary Rose
to stay over at his house on a Saturday night.
At first Albert Caldwell had been dead set against his daughter
making the trip. But his wife knew how much Mary Rose wanted to
go. And what better time to go than now? She had graduated from
Miss Emily’s School for Girls several years ago, and dutifully
attended all of the dances her mother accepted invitations for
– the family didn’t make anywhere quite enough money for her to
attend the high society balls that were thrown in St. Regis, Virginia,
but they had at least scraped together enough money to send her
to a finishing school, for all the good it had done.
But Mary Rose was well on her way to becoming an old maid. It
wasn’t that she was ugly, thankfully, her mother had often mused
when she was of a mood to try to dissect why not one of the men
in their small town had taken a liking to her girl. Mary Rose
had a long, luscious fall of naturally streaked blonde hair that
looked almost like frosted gold in places. Her eyes were big and
shockingly blue, her lips and cheeks full and red – without any
artifice, which Albert frowned on and wouldn’t allow his daughter
anyway. They weren’t made of money, but they were fairly comfortable,
and her daughter’s clothes were pretty and well-made, if a season
or so behind the current fashions. And Mary Rose had a sweet,
generous, loving personality – if a somewhat stubborn one. Mrs.
Caldwell blamed her husband for that.
There was only one real fly in the ointment, as far as Sarah was
concerned: her daughter had a brain.
She blamed Shep for this, directly. He’d doted on his niece, and
had encouraged her to study and get good grades in subjects other
than comportment and poise. Sarah’s harshest warning whenever
Mary Rose went on a date was that she shouldn’t appear too intelligent.
Men didn’t like girls they thought were too smart.
But despite everything that Sarah tried to do, however – throwing
her daughter at any possible available male, especially after
she turned twenty – there were no prospects for a husband in sight.
No one. Oh, she’d had dates – more when she was younger, of course
- but there were still the few unsuspecting men that could be
conned into taking her out – properly chaperoned, of course. Uncle
Shep used to volunteer to go out with the prospective couple –
a duty that Sarah was only too willing to farm off on someone
else. Mary Rose had always claimed that her mother made her nervous
when they were out, and so Shep became a surrogate father for
that time, which was a task he more than enjoyed.
Mary Rose gave another few useless swipes at the wooden sidewalk
in front of the saloon while wearing a big grin at the pleasant
memories. Uncle Shep always knew her better than anyone else.
He knew her secret: she didn’t want to get married. Not at all.
She didn’t want some man controlling her life like her mother’s
was controlled by her father, and she certainly didn’t want to
turn into some mean-spirited shrew like her Aunt under any circumstances.
Sarah Caldwell didn’t seem to be too unhappy about her lot in
life (although Mary Rose didn’t know if she could say the same
for Uncle Shep) – but Mary Rose also knew how her father kept
her mother in line.
He spanked her. Now, granted, she had gotten it a couple of times
when she was younger for doing foolish things, but her mother
got a licking every time she so much as raised her voice or looked
somewhat askew at her father. There was no way that Mary Rose
was going to put up with that.
Furthermore, she was smart, and she refused to hide it.
So when she and Uncle Shep would have one of their �śdates” with
some poor unsuspecting man, they would deliberately speak over
the man’s head. They would begin a conversation in one language
and end it in the other. They would argue insignificant philosophical
topics to the point where one of her dates actually fell asleep
into the nice dinner he’d bought. Now, Mary Rose was too soft-hearted
by far to be really cruel to anyone. But the point was well made.
No man ever asked her out again, which was exactly as she – and
Shep wanted it. Shep had his own agenda for Mary Rose: he and
Alma had never had any children. Frankly, she barely let him close
enough to her to create any, but that was another subject all
together. He wanted Mary Rose to inherit the store – wherever
it ended up being. He didn’t want her husband to inherit it, he
wanted her to. He’d been carefully cultivating her interest in
business and had even shown her how to do his books. She’d picked
it up immediately. She had a facility for things like that, and
soaked up the knowledge he imparted to her like an eager sponge.

So, even if she didn’t get married – which Shep frankly hoped
she didn’t – she’d have the store to support her.
But, as Mary Rose had discovered when she got out there, Clementine
already had a dry goods store, so Uncle Shep had sold his wares
to the current mercantile owner, a Mr. Seymour, and turned his
attentions to running an inn just outside of town whose owner
had just left this world in an unfortunate and rather violent
manner – some sort of dispute about cards and money, neither of
which were healthy topics in a town like Clementine. The inn itself
was highly respectable, and even Aunt Alma couldn’t find a fault
with it – but it did have a smallish saloon attached, and, no
matter how she nattered at Shep, she couldn’t get him to close
that part of the establishment down.
Alma made sure everyone within earshot knew of her innate disapproval
of the bar and its patrons – most especially those girls who would
want to take their �śacquaintances” up to rooms in her hotel. She
staunchly refused to allow anyone she thought looked the least
suspiciously loose to even cross the inn’s threshold, denying
everyone of many, many profitable transactions.
Partially as a result of Alma’s priggishness, the Inn experienced
a considerable decline due to lack of funds. Its previous owner
had had an understanding with the girls and had been making a
tidy sum at the time of his demise by taking both room rent and
a cut of their take. But there wasn’t quite enough traffic in
Clementine to support three hotels, two of which were at better
locations in town.
Despite the fact that Shep desperately wanted Mary Rose’s company,
she knew she was truly only another mouth to feed when her Aunt
and Uncle could barely afford to put food in their own mouths.
She had already been making quiet plans to return home when Uncle
Shep had taken sick. It was the yellow fever, and he had wasted
away in a matter of a week. Aunt Alma, who had been driven to
exhaustion taking care of her husband, followed within a month.
If she was generous, Mary Rose would say that Alma wanted to follow
Shep because of her deep love of him, and she did have to admit
that Alma had taken excellent care of Shep even as he grew sicker
and sicker. They had spelled each other at night, but Alma had
been alone with him all day while Mary Rose ran things. She supposed
Alma did love him, in her own way, but certainly not in the way
Mary Rose would ever love her husband. The only weeping and wailing
at Shep’s death had been her own, and it had drawn a sharp reprimand
from her Aunt for making a scene.
Mary Rose took a deep breath, strands of her golden blonde hair
blowing into her eyes as quickly as she could scrape them away.
She was truly alone for the first time in her life - had been
since Alma died two months ago. There was no longer enough money
for her to go home. Oh, she could petition her parents for it,
she supposed. Her mother would love for her daughter to come back
to where she could be again tucked neatly under her Mother’s thumb.

But Mary Rose was not the same young woman who had come out to
the West just a short six months ago. She had learned how to handle
her uncle’s business, had learned how to deal with drunks and
women of ill-repute – most of whom she found acted no better or
worse than the upper-class women she’d been forced to hang around
with in finishing school - and had two relatives die in her arms.
As much as Uncle Shep did his level best to keep her fairly sheltered,
it was hard row to hoe out here. The West was truly a wild place,
where lawmen only arrived in time to clean things up – never soon
enough to prevent them from happening in the first place.
Clementine had no full-time sheriff, although there was always
a notice tacked up on the door of what was supposed to be his
office, letting everyone know that the town council – such as
it was – was looking for someone to fill the bill. There was a
judge who roved around the territories, Silas Neville, but his
stops were few and far between, as his attention was more drawn
to the bigger towns – Santa Fe and Albuquerque to the south. If
they truly needed justice in the town, a rider would have to be
sent to try to track and fetch him, and that could take months
– if the man survived.
The Texas Rangers made the occasional appearance, usually because
they were looking for some outlaw or another. Technically, they
had no jurisdiction as of the boarder, but they were well respected
and carried a lot of weight with the locals – and any potential
nuisances – by their mere presence. Mary Rose had nearly been
run over by a posse of them one of the first days she was in Clementine
– sometimes, although it really was a smallish town, just crossing
the street was taking your life in your hands. But then, sometimes
just inhabiting this place was deadly enough. The only merchant
that was sure of his future was the casket maker. He had more
business than he could handle.
After finishing with the sweeping outside – well, she grimaced,
as close as she could tell, given that a thin layer of dust persisted
on nearly every flat surface, despite all of her valiant attempts
at preventing it – Mary Rose walked slowly inside, noting with
a sinking feeling just how grubby and grimy everything was. She
sighed heavily and picked up a rag, polishing each of the chairs
and tables methodically, until her arm hurt.
�śThat ain’t gonna do you no good,” came a husky, hoarse voice
from just beside the bar. One thing Uncle Shep had done when he
ended up as a barkeep was make sure that the bar was as elegant
as possible – hoping to deter the lowlier elements, not that it
had worked. It was pure mahogany, with padded leather bumpers
and a glowingly polished brass foot rail. The bar was huge enough
that there were twelve matching stools in front of it. Its size
was rather ridiculous considering that it stood dead empty most
nights. Despite that fact, it was fully stocked with everything
from absinthe to zinfandel. There was the occasion when Mary Rose
had seriously considered drinking her way from one end of the
bar stock to the other, but, luckily, those moments were generally
few and far between.
The owner of the voice was one of the working girls – speaking
of few and far between. As the bars and hotels in town became
more and more popular, The Tenderfoot Saloon and the Lilac Rose
Inn had been less in favor with the women of the evening – which
had made Alma absolutely ecstatic. But now Mary Rose had to deal
with the financial fallout.
Penny, who wasn’t that much younger than Mary Rose, but was certainly
more mature in the ways of men, sauntered around in front of the
bar, leaning her elbows back against it, making her breasts just
out and strain against the barely-there lace that had been hastily
stitched into the front of her soiled dress. �śIt’s just gonna
get dirty again. I don’t know why you keep a-cleanin’. Just a
waste of time, you ask me.”
Mary Rose – who really didn’t have a problem with Penny plying
her trade as long as she used a modicum of restraint in dressing,
which was why her breasts didn’t just pop entirely out of their
worn fabric constraints – gave the other woman a withering glance.
�śBecause it’ll get ahead of me if I don’t. You could always grab
a rag and help me.”
Penny pulled the tattered embroidered shawl closer around her
rounded shoulders. �śYou know I can’t be seen doing that. Why,
men don’t want women with, rough servant-girl hands touching them.”
It was in her mind to question Penny about why she thought she
was too good for cleaning, yet not too good to lay down for any
man who had a dollar in his pocket, but Mary Rose decided that
she wasn’t sure she wanted to get into that with Penny again –
and she wasn’t sure it was even a whole dollar that was charged
. . .
Mary Rose shook her head. Living out here had certainly changed
the way she thought. Back home in Virginia, she would never have
thought of wondering exactly what a harlot charged a man, and
for what. But she was growing up really quickly out here. Much
more quickly, she was quite sure, than her parents would care
for.
As the pleasant, tart scent of lemon oil wafted into the air while
she polished, Mary Rose faced the fact that she liked being out
here, on her own. Oh, she definitely missed Uncle Shep – Aunt
Alma not so much, she admitted to herself with a half-smile. But
now she had no one to boss her around – no one to tell her what
to do. Her parents were across the country, and her father couldn’t
lay down the law from that far away. She could do anything she
pleased.
As long as it didn’t cost money.
Luckily, she pleased to work as hard as she possibly could, determined
to make a go of this place, as a legacy to Uncle Shep. If it took
having working girls around, then that’s what she’d do. If it
took hanging naked from the rafters, she’d seriously consider
it. She wanted to make this little town her home, and did her
level best to make sure they drew all the business they could
from the other two hotels. Her prices were already slashed to
the bone in both establishments. She offered hot baths for two
bits to the cowboys coming in off the range, letting them use
an old tub that Uncle Shep had dragged outside. Bathers were given
a modicum of privacy by sheets that were hung all around the tub.
Towels, soap, and shaving accessories were, of course, all available
for an extra fee.
During cattle drives, this made a fair bit of money. But the drives
were a ways off yet. She needed money now. The inn was empty –
except for Penny’s infrequent use – and the saloon was empty more
nights than not.
Sometimes, she thought she might have to follow in Penny’s footsteps,
and the idea made her cringe. She’d never much liked men – her
Uncle Shep and sometimes her father excluded – never felt any
sort of interest in swooning over them like a lot of her contemporaries
did, debasing themselves in order to snag that all important husband.
It was bad enough that if she did get married, she’d be expected
to let her husband have his way with her body . . . and just what
the specifics of that were she wasn’t sure. But letting some stranger
see her nude? Put his hands all over her? A painful shudder wracked
her body. She’d die before she let that happened.
~ ~ ~
Hours later, as she
was washing dishes in the makeshift sink at the back of the saloon,
Mary Rose heard the patter of large feet that had been wedged
into stylish button up boots at the expense of the wearer’s comfort
and pocketbook. Penny’s, no doubt. Just to make sure, she wandered
into the bar, drying her hands on a dish towel, and looking at
the panting girl expectantly.
�śRumors are flyin’ in town.”
Mary Rose pursed her lips and turned to go back to the dishes.
�śRumors are always flying in Clementine. There’s never any substance
to them. Remember the one about President McKinley coming here?
As if that man has the time to stroll through this grubby little
town.”
Penny huffed indignantly. �śWell, if you don’t want to know about
it . . . �ś
Despite the fact that she generally didn’t indulge in gossip as
a matter of course – having been raised by a mother who disdained
it completely, Mary Rose found herself looking for an excuse to
hear what Penny had to say. Then she took herself to task within
her own mind: she was alone out here. There was no one to oversee
her behavior, and she could, within reason and good sense, of
course, do as she pleased. If she wanted to hear about whatever
prattle was going on in town, then she could. Mother would never
find out, thankfully.
She turned and fussed with her skirts, edging her hip up onto
a barstool, which she would never have done if the bar hadn’t
been completely deserted. �śWhat? Did Mrs. Jenkins swear she saw
an Indian war party on her evening stroll again?”
Penny’s eyes rolled right along with Mary Rose’s. �śNot that I
heard tell. Not that she didn’t, you understand . . . it’s just
that no one was talkin’ about it right then.”
Mary Rose laughed softly. Mariah Jenkins’ reports of Indian activity
were always to be taken with a grain of salt. Most people in town
thought she was an out and out nut, but Mary Rose preferred the
more charitable description of �śeccentric”. Mariah was a widower
who owned a lot of land in and around town, and she had her own
concerns about it, Injuns being among her foremost worries, even
though there wasn’t a hostile Indian for miles around and hadn’t
been an out and out attack in more than a decade.
Penny leaned closer to Mary Rose, her ample bosom squashed into
the bar in what looked like a painful manner. �śNo, what they’re
talkin’ about is that outlaw, El Diablo. He’s been spotted not
too far from here.”
Mary Rose’s eyebrow crooked. �śBy someone more reliable than Mrs.
Jenkins, I assume?”
�śYep,” Penny breathed, nodding vigorously. �śYou heard about the
trains?”
There had reportedly been several instances of a gang of thugs
stopping and robbing trains as they entered the territory. The
engineers, as well as any passengers who resisted in any way –
and even some that didn’t – were shot and left for dead as the
thieves galloped away with anything of value they could take.
�śI did.”
�śWell, they’ve been robbing banks in Texas and the territory,
some of them not too far from us. They say the Rangers are on
their tail, but the crooks seem to always be a step ahead of them.”
Penny’s voice was reduced to a near whisper. �śWord on the street
is that they’re completely ruthless, and that they’ll shoot you
as soon as look at you, then laugh while you writhe and gasp your
last breath in the dirt.”
Disliking that particular mental image, Mary Rose stood and headed
back to work. �śThat doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary
for an outlaw.”
Penny shivered behind her, staring at the door to the saloon as
if the apocalypse was about to burst through it. �śI don’t like
it, Miz Caldwell. I don’t like it a-tall. They hit the bank in
Clearwater and killed everyone in it – men, women, and children.”
That gave Mary Rose pause. Clearwater wasn’t but an hour or two
away by horseback. That was, she had to admit, uncomfortably close.
She shook off the fissure of fear that ran down her back, spiking
her nipples tightly against her chemise. �śI still say there’s
nothing here to draw them.”
Penny let the topic drop, but neither woman was completely at
ease for the rest of the day.


Go to Chapter Two















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