Scryer's Gulch

Episode 23: Cleaning Up Messes

Ralph Johnson came whistling into the back door of the Hopewell after church. It might seem odd that Julian's general factotum and cook was a churchgoer at all, let alone an Enthusiast, but he needed all the encouragement he could get, he figured. It put him in a good mood every week, even though it wasn't all that often that Brother Fattipickel offered a Great Encouragement as he had this service. Just being in a group of people, all making a Joyful Noise and basking in the Truth of the Mother did it for him. He belonged somewhere.

He felt the same about the Hopewell, most of the time, and seeing Miss Duniway at church reminded him it was high time he did up her room. "Hey, Emmy," he called to the hotel's girl of all work. "Grab some clean sheets, we're doin' up Miss Duniway's."

"On Sunday?" she said.

"Yes, on Sunday. Then we don't have to do it tomorrow."

"'We' means me, Ralph Johnson."

"Then I'd think you'd welcome the help," he said, shooing her up the stairs with her arms full of sheets.

"She don't like it done any day anyhow, so I don't see how come we gotta," grumbled Emmy, just before they disappeared into Miss Duniway's apartment.

***

When Annabelle returned to her rooms, Misi got up from a patch of sunlight in the bedroom window and stretched. "What's up, cutie? Where you been?" he said. "Good Joyful Noise this Sunday, or did stage fright get the better of you?"

"It's not a performance, kitty, it's a worship service," snapped Annabelle, throwing her best straw on the bed long enough to fetch her hatbox down from the wardrobe. She stopped abruptly; several small traps she'd left had been triggered. The small clean streak in the dust on the nightstand was gone, for one. "Someone's been in here, Misi."

"Oh yeah, Ralph came in with the chore girl, changed the sheets, dusted, swept, you know."

"I prefer doing it myself," she growled, going through her drawers. She pulled out her valise and checked the false bottom: undisturbed. "What possessed Ralph to come do it himself this time?"

"He likes you. It's all right, I was right here the whole time watching."

"Well, why didn't you do something!"

"Like what?" said Misi. "I'm a cat, who cares what I do? If you'd just let everyone know I'm a demon, no one'd come within ten yards of your rooms!"

"Maybe I will let everyone know," she said, a choke in her voice. She sat down on the bed, narrowly missing her bonnet, and burst into tears.

"Aw, sweetie! What's the matter?" said Misi, creeping up to put a paw on her arm.

"I compromised us, that's what!" she cried. "John Runnels caught me right after church, and my defenses are always down then, and we started talking about his son Jamie and Georgie Prake, and..." She cried for a pace. "I hate to see poor Georgie falsely accused like this, and I worry about Jamie." She lapsed into tears.

Misi leaped to the top of the dresser. "Hands, please." She waved consent; dewclaws shifted into thumbs. The demon fished inside the top drawer for a handkerchief, and took the linen square's corner in his mouth; his paws returned to normal. "You're takin' thish shkoolmarm act a little too sheriously, kiddo," he said, returning to his mistress's side.

She plucked the handkerchief from his teeth. "They're children, Misi!" she said, wiping away her tears. "They've been entrusted to me, whether I'm a real teacher or not. If you want to put it in mercenary terms, caring about the children is part of my disguise."

"What exactly did you tell him?"

Annabelle traced the patterns on the coverlet with her unoccupied hand. "I told him about the ore. Not everything," she hastened, "and I didn't tell him we're with Treasury."

"I can't believe you of all people did that!" said Misi. "That's--Annie, I can't believe you did that! Are you all right? Did you put the ore in your pocket and forget about it?"

"No, no," she said irritably. "I don't know why I did it, but that's not it. I'll tell you one thing, though. I think we can trust him. I think we can trust him with the whole story, though I'm not ready for that yet. In future, it might be that we'll need his help. I never have thought keeping local law enforcement in the dark was a good idea."

"Annabelle Duniway, after Toledo, I'd think you'd know better than to trust a copper," chided Misi.

"Well, I got us out of that one, didn't I, and Sheriff Runnels is a far better person than Chief DuPont ever was."

"Yeah, and you dished him good in the end, I must say, but I wish you'd be more careful with this Runnels."

"I did throw him off the scent a little. I intimated that the ore might have something to do with the murders."

"That surprises me most of all!" said Misi. "I'd've thought you'd tell him about Mamzelle before you'd tell him about the ore."

"I want to wait until a little closer to the next full moon, or shut her down ourselves. I don't want to tip our hat to Bonham quite so soon."

"This is becoming a dangerous game, Annie."

"I know," she said. She put aside the handkerchief, and flashed the demon a smile. "But we're playing it to win, kitty, and we always do." She stood up, put her best straw tenderly into its hatbox and thence to the top of the wardrobe. She stretched out on the bed. "It's time for that nap I've been putting off."

***

Emmy the chore girl didn't have time for a nap, though her workload was light. It was Sunday, after all, not that she went to church. She didn't have any use for the Method or the Mother--they made it clear they didn't have any use for her, never had her whole life. Her pa had always said if any of 'em ever stepped inside a church, the roof'd fall in.

She could use a rest. Not that she'd get one, but then, she thought as she peeled potatoes for dinner, she was lucky to have the job. There weren't many who'd take on a girl like her. Hopewell hadn't wanted her. Mamzelle didn't want her, neither, no matter what Hopewell said; the goodtime girls were renting at the Hopewell on account of Mamzelle not wanting them in the first place. Without her own room, Emmy would be in the gutter, and she'd do 'most anything not to turn tricks in the streets. But she didn't have the money for a ticket out of town to somewhere no one knew her, nor any money to keep herself alive until she found some kind of job other than the one she knew.

After Hopewell tossed all the girls out, Ralph insisted he needed help if the Hotel was going to go all swank, and Emmy was the help he wanted. Between Ralph and Johnny Runnels, they convinced that skinflint Hopewell to hire Emmy on as a girl of all work. Sure, she did Ralph a personal favor now and again, but she had something to eat, a roof of sorts over her head, and she got to keep her pay, such as it was.

Emmy knew her place, unlike that piece who called herself Mrs Bonham. A girl like her could spot another girl like her, no matter how many silks and satins were draped on her frame. Oh sure, she might have married Bonham, but that didn't make her anything other than the tart she was, Emmy sniffed. She swiped her peeling knife on her apron and picked up the next potato.

Then there was the schoolteacher who weren't no schoolteacher. Emmy didn't know what she was. She wasn't a loose woman. No, it was some kind of hardness about her, a powerful sharp edge most folks didn't seem to notice. She suspicioned that Johnny saw it, but she also suspicioned he was sweet on that Miss Duniway. Emmy didn't like it, not at all.

Finding that letter under Miss Duniway's bed seemed providential. Whoever this Daniel was, Miss Duniway was in a bad way over him. How would Johnny take that? If those two kept making eyes at one another, Emmy was of the opinion she'd find out.