Page 144 of The Widow and the Wanted

Pearl edges nearer the doorway. She is trying to look at the notice without being seen looking, her eyes too large in her pale face.

“There’s boys with them already,” she says softly. “I seen one by the stair. He had his cap full of papers.”

Goldie does not look up. “Whipple came himself?”

The woman in sapphire nods. “Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t step over the sill. Said he was only doing Christian duty by giving warning.”

“Christian duty,” Goldie says, voice gone flat. “There’s a privy phrase if ever one was dug.”

Boone snatches the paper from her hand before I can stop him. His lips move over the words, slow where the print grows crowded. Anger comes into him by inches, each line setting another coal behind his eyes.

“Sundown,” he says. “That ain’t a newspaper. That’s a damn hanging notice.”

“No,” I say, taking the page from him. “It is worse. A hanging notice names its executioner. This asks the town to volunteer.”

Goldie’s mouth twists. “Everett found himself a sermon bell.”

“He says you’re held,” Boone says, jabbing a finger at the paper. “Says Lula’s held.”

“He says what serves him.” Goldie lifts her face toward the curtained window, though from here there is no seeing the street. “He has softened his hand on me because he means to use it.”

The sapphire woman shifts by the door. “Ma’am, there’s already men gathering below. Not many yet, but enough to make talk breed talk.”

“Of course there are,” Goldie says. “Nothing fattens quicker than righteousness fed in public.”

Boone turns toward the door. “Then we go now.”

Goldie moves faster than I expect, stepping into his path. “You go nowhere yet.”

He stares down at her. “Or what?”

“You’ll make the newspaper honest by giving it a show.” Her eyes burn now, and for once every sharp edge of her is pointed toward the proper enemy. “You step into that street with your pistol loose and you won’t make it off the porch.”

Boone looks to me, desperate for contradiction. I have none to offer.

The paper trembles slightly in my hand. That small motion angers me more than the headline.

“He has made the Gemini itself the stage,” I say.

Goldie nods once. “And put the audience in motion.”

Pearl speaks from the doorway, small but clear. “Ma’am?”

Goldie turns.

Pearl holds up another sheet, folded hard down the middle. “There’s more. One nailed to the post by the front steps.”

For the first time, Goldie Eld looks almost weary. Then it is gone.

“Lock the back hall,” she says. “Tell Esther no girl leaves by the front. Tell Nettie to shut the blue room windows and keep the girls away from the glass. Anyone asks after me, I am praying for guidance and may God forgive the son of a bitch who interrupts. I want a pistol in every one of our girls’ corsets. We will defend this place if need be. Understood?"

Pearl nods, clutching the paper to her chest, and makes herself walk away.

Goldie turns back to us, all softness burned off, something meaner left standing in its place. “Now,” she says, tapping the notice with one lacquered nail, “if I know Everett, he expects me to hand you over. He has given me an out. I can be the victim in this. Lula too. Poor Goldie Eld, poor ruined daughter, held fast by bloody-handed men.” Her mouth tightens. “Frankly, that is the easier road for me and mine.”

Boone goes still beside me.

Goldie’s nail taps the paper once more.