Free The Devil's Paintbox by Victoria McKernan Page A

the World.”
She hesitated. “Perhaps you might stay with the happier nations, though,” she suggested. “Switzerland, maybe; avoid the Aztecs and headhunters and such.”
    “I will.” Maddy nodded. “Joby, will you walk Mrs. True back to her wagon?”
    “Thank you, Joby.” Marguerite held out her elbow and Joby took hold of it in a clumsy escort. “Come wake me if you need anything at all.”
    Maddy went back to the fire. She tapped the lump of hard brown sugar against the side of the enamel mug to break off a bit, poured the hot tea over it and added a little cool water so it wouldn't burn him.
    He took a sip, coughed, then drank it thirstily.
    “Sweet tea is good after purging so,” she said.
    His shaking eased a little. He looked around, as if suddenly confused. “Where are we?”
    “On our way west; Colorado now.”
    “Why?”
    “Well—for a new life there. You know that.”
    “Yes. I know.” He looked at his clothing as if he didn't quite trust her and there might be clues. Then he stared at the fire. “Is that the piano?” he asked.
    Maddy saw one of the carved legs just catching the flame, the varnish bubbling up in little blisters.
    “Yes. I'm sorry,” she said.
    He blinked a few times and seemed to come back to himself. “Where's Joby?”
    “He'll be back shortly.” Maddy's own hand was shaking as she poured some more tea in the mug. It was awful to see him like this. “Tell me, how did you learn to play the piano so nice?” she asked, hoping to get his mind on a happier subject, as Marguerite had suggested. “Did you have a piano in your parlor?”
    “My parlor?” He blinked and stared at the little fire. “No. In the lobby of the hotel where I lived.”
    “You lived in a hotel? In New York? Tell me all about it,” Maddy said eagerly. “Were there chandeliers?”
    “Yes.” His eyes got a little more normal and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “In the lobby.”
    “And velvet draperies with braided cords and silken tassels especially fine?” She blushed. That was from a magazine advertisement that had stuck in her head since she was six years old:
silken tassels especially fine.
    “I don't know. Yes, I suppose, in the guest rooms.” Carlos coughed. “We lived in the basement.”
    “The basement?” Maddy was disappointed but tried not to let it show. “Oh.”
    “Yes. My father was the hotel doctor.”
    “Oh, well!” She brightened. “That's—illustrious!”
    “What?”
    “It means—”
    “I know what it means. There was nothing illustrious about it,” he said stiffly. He swallowed the last of the tea, then swiped his finger in the mug to scoop up the undis-solved sugar at the bottom. “He was there to take care of the whores and tend the drunken businessmen passed out in the hallways. He gave abortions to their mistresses and nursed their wives off laudanum. Do you know what laudanum is?”
    “No.”
    “Opium?”
    “What they smoke in China? In opium dens?”
    “Yes.
    “There's a picture in my book—”
    “The
Atlas of the World.
Yes, your bible.” Carlos pulled theblanket tighter around his shoulders and wiped his forehead again. The sweet tea had eased his shaking. “Opium is a drug, a soporific. Mixed with alcohol it's called laudanum. Lovely stuff, until you come to need it and can't get it and— well, this is what happens.”
    “How long will you be sick?”
    “The worst should pass by morning.”
    “Can it be eased somehow?”
    “Yes. Go away and leave me alone.”
    “I'm not tired. And I want to be a doctor; I should learn these things.”
    Carlos laughed. “You can't be a doctor.”
    “Why not?”
    “You're a girl.” His voice was dismissive and sharp, and Maddy bristled.
    “Were you always so hateful?” she snapped.
    Carlos startled at her response. He looked away and rubbed a hand over his eyes, then finally spoke so softly she could barely hear him. “No. I'm sorry.”
    “I know it was an awful time you've been