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Chapter Five
Squinting her eyes against the morning sun's rays, Eugenia continued onward, making her way down a side street, hoping to reach this Bennett Avenue without any further delay. If Dawn was right this avenue held Eugenia's future for her. As described to her, the street she was heading toward seemed to have only the most decent of establishments. Not like the ones that she was fast leaving behind.
She lifted her skirt and stepped up onto a high grade of sidewalk, then stood in awe as she gazed at everything around her. It was as though she had stepped into the future. A cable car was clattering in front of her on its tracks and the street was lined with hotels, department stores, and many other kinds of stores too numerous to imagine. Her eyes swept along this street, seeing the many Victorian-style buildings with their turrets and bay windows. It was as though they were almost asking to be stared at. The bracketed cornices were so pretty and luscious they reminded her of pictures that she had seen of iced wedding cakes in books. Then one house in particular caught her eye. It was located at the far end of this street. It was a three-storied mansion with gingerbread ornamentation and many dormer windows and quaint towers arranged elegantly on its roof. It was too magnificent. She had to wonder who could live in such luxury. At this moment she could only see a gardener trimming the four-foot hedge that fenced the lawn. And through the windows, all she could see were delicate, white lacy curtains. This had been the kind of house that she had dreamed of. She suddenly had the strongest of longing to go to it, knock on its door, and ask to be shown around inside it. She knew that it had to be the most beautiful house in the whole world. But realizing that she was daydreaming once again, she moved down the street, her eyes full watching the throngs of people hurrying along. And the women! How different they were from the ones she had seen on Myers Avenue. Most of these women were attired in cotton frocks trimmed in lace, with dozens of petticoats swaying beneath the skirt as the women moved down the street. And, as she had noticed about the men, they all wore hats. Some more fancy than most wore sunbonnets, with ribbons of satin tied beneath their chins. And Eugenia couldn't help but notice that most women were slender in build with their clothes worn tight at the waist, over their very long, full skirts. She glanced into a pane of glass on the building beside her, noticing her own appearance, the thickness of her waist and the disarray of her hair. She seemed so out of place among these beautiful women, so she hurried on her way, pushing through the crowds, hoping to find this Hillcrest Hotel that Dawn had spoken of. Surely she could find employment there. If not there, then somewhere else. She had to. There wasn't any way that she would return to Dawn's establishment. No matter how hungry she became.
Suddenly, a man caught Eugenia's eye. He was walking toward her. He was attired in heavy riding boots, snug tan breeches, and had guns in holsters at his belt. But what was captivating her most about him was his beard. Her heart began to pound the closer he came to her. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he disappeared inside a building, leaving her to wonder… was… it… Drew? This was the first bearded man that she had seen in Cripple Creek. Could it really be Drew? She hurried onward and stopped before the building that he had entered. She looked upward and noticed the name of the hotel above the door. To her surprise, she had just found the Hillcrest Hotel. And that's where she had seen the man enter. How marvelous it would be if Drew was staying at this establishment. They could once again… meet. She hurried on inside and looked slowly around her. This was the first hotel that she had ever been inside of. And it wasn't at all like she had expected. It was so impersonal somehow, with its lobby so plain and only a few odds and ends placed around the room. Across the room from where she stood she saw a potbellied stove that was only a few feet from a long counter with an opened book on top, placed beside an unlighted kerosene lamp. Then Eugenia's eyes settled on the man whom she was so sure was Drew. He was standing beside a shelf that displayed newspapers. His eyes were looking downward, reading one of these newspapers.
With a pounding heart and fast growing weak knees, Eugenia hurried to his side and touched him gently on the arm. "Drew?" she said, waiting for him to turn to her, recognize her also, and pull her into his arms. But when he turned and faced her fully, she could feel her face reddening, knowing that it wasn't Drew at all. She remembered Drew's piercing blue eyes too well, and the scar above his eyebrow—this man had neither. She began to inch back away from him.
"Yeah?" he drawled, smiling crookedly, showing shiny white teeth. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
Eugenia could feel the suggestion behind his look that he probably thought her to be one of "those women" from Myers Avenue, even though she wasn't dressed in such a manner. She knew that he probably thought from her bold approach that that was all she had to offer. She felt degraded all over again and began to run from him, still feeling his eyes on her. She stumbled blindly into a short, squatty, elderly woman, knocking an armful of towels from her and o
nto the floor.
"My word, darlin'," the woman exclaimed, bending to pick up the towels. "Where might you be rushin' to in such a dither?"
Eugenia panted breathlessly, taking another fast glance over her shoulder. She breathed more easily when she saw that the man was gone. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, stooping to assist in correcting her clumsy attack on this woman.
"You look as though you're all tuckered out and alone in the world," the woman said, standing with her arms full once again, eyeing Eugenia closely. "Am I right?" she quickly added.
"Yes, ma'am," Eugenia uttered, noticing the kindness in this woman's eyes, eyes that seemed to have faded with age, almost swallowed up beneath thick, gray brows. Eugenia self-consciously began to straighten her hair, then the gathers of her skirt. "I be lookin' for work. Mightn' you know of a place that could use me?" she added bashfully.
The old woman laughed merrily, making her large middle shake. "You've come to the right place, darlin'," she said, placing the layer of towels on a chair. "I'm needin' a cook."
Eugenia's eyes lowered. Again she was ashamed for not having learned how to cook. But it hadn't been her fault, it had been her Papa's. He had kept her out in the fields. When she had finished for the day she just hadn't had the desire to stand over a hot cooking stove. But now she almost wished she had. How she needed a job. A job that would get her started in her new way of life, that would eventually lead her to a life of silks… satins…
"I say. I need a cook," the woman said, grasping onto Eugenia's arm, peering upward into Eugenia's eyes. "Do you think that kind of work would please you?"
"I don't know how to cook, ma'am," Eugenia muttered.
The lady drew back, her eyebrows tilting, eyeing Eugenia up and down once again. "Where might you be from, darlin'?" she asked, thrusting her hands inside the front pockets of her blue-checkered gingham apron.
"Just a ways 'roud the mountain," she answered.
"And you never learned to cook?" the woman said, then added, "Tsk, tsk. Your Mama sure did wrong by you."
Eugenia wanted to defend her Mama, but stood her ground, tightlipped.
"But I have other work for you, darlin'," the woman continued, taking Eugenia by the arm, guiding her toward a steep staircase. "We have many beds that need takin' care of each day. Surely you can do that kind of work."
"Yes, ma'am," Eugenia said, knowing that she would most definitely give it her best. But she couldn't help but remember the makeshift bed at her parents' homestead. It had never needed making. It had lain on the floor with only patchwork quilts for its cover.
"And please quit callin' me ma'am," the woman said. "My name's Hannah. Hannah St. Clair. I run this hotel. And I don't like my help callin' me ma'am. It's too formal. I want you to feel as though this is your home. Does that suit you fine?"
"Yes, ma'am," Eugenia said, then smiled and added, "I mean… yes, Miss Hannah."
Hannah threw her head back and laughed throatily. "And don't call me Miss Hannah," she said, her hands rearranging some gray hair that had fallen from the high bun on her head. "I've been a Mrs. many times. More times than I care to announce."
Eugenia looked Hannah's way. She could see how many men could have loved her. Even now in her later years she was still pretty with her short, pert nose, and dimples that occasionally made their way to the surface between the deep lines on her face.
Eugenia stepped high to the last step, then followed Hannah down a long, dimly lighted hallway. She looked on each side of her. There were many closed doors, and each had a number painted on it. She couldn't help but be reminded of the doors on the shacks that she had seen the day before. "Cribs," as Dawn had called them. The names of those women on those doors would always seem to haunt her, making her remember her one night of living nightmares. She shuddered.
"Did you have a chill, darlin?" Hannah asked, touching Eugenia's cheek tenderly.
"No. I guess I'm just a mite tired," Eugenia said, swallowing back a lump that had formed in her throat. The kindness of this woman had brought her home back so vividly in her mind, the way her Mama had always embraced her at the end of the day and the way Papa had always treated her like someone extraspecial.
