Queen of Hearts - Chapter 1

St. Louis, 1872

1

“Come on, Mal, just a little bit of whiskey? Just a sip?”

“You know I can’t, Kate.”

“Then a glass of ice at least?”

He laughed. “I don’t have any ice to give you either. What do you want it for anyway?”

“My damn tooth hurts,” I sighed. “I just want something for the pain.” I leaned over the bar to give Mal a better view of my low-cut neckline, hoping it might entice him to give in to my request. He did notice, taking a good long look as he wiped down the bar, but he shook his head.
I gave up and put my back to the bar, pursing my lips in frustration. It made the tooth hurt and I winced. “Guess I need to find a doctor. I wonder if Doc Williams would pull it out for me.”

“You need a dentist,” said a young man next to me. He had dark hair and wore a well-made black frock coat with pin-striped pants. The cloth was good quality. He was either a banker, or more likely, a tailor.

“What the hell is a dentist and why would I need one?” I asked.

“They are doctors that specialize in teeth. It just so happens that my cousin recently graduated from dental college and has an office a couple blocks from here.” He took out a card from his pocket along with a pencil and wrote a name and address on the back before handing it to me. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the business.”

“And he’d be better than seeing a regular doctor?”

“Oh, most certainly.” He watched as I slipped the card down the front of my dress. “You need a dentist.” It took a moment for his eyes to return to my face.

If I was going to see this dentist I was going to need some extra cash to pay for the visit, but I knew how to get that. I smiled at the gentleman, noticing some blue thread stuck to the cuff of his coat. Definitely a tailor.

“Can I get you another drink? Maybe a dance?”

He smiled back, handing me his glass. “You can finish off the last little bit first.”


The next afternoon I found myself making my way down Fourth Street in the middle of a rainstorm. My little black umbrella wasn’t doing much to keep the raindrops off my hat and shoulders, not that getting wet mattered all that much. St. Louis in June was damp even on a sunny day, especially only a few blocks from the river. The humidity made the sleeves of my dress cling uncomfortably to my arms. I paused outside a building to check the address against the card the dark-haired gentleman had given me. All of the buildings on this block looked the same. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and located the door painted with the name “Dr. A. Jameson Fuches, D.D.S.”

I tapped on the door and it was opened by a tall, dark-haired young man with wire-rimmed glasses perched on his long nose. He did look a bit like his cousin, although his clothes were shabbier. He was wearing a white apron over a white shirt and dark waistcoat and matching trousers. He was young, but I supposed he looked like I expected a dentist to look, or at least enough like a doctor to be reassuring.

“Dr. Fuches, I presume?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” He had a pleasant, deep voice and a kindly smile.

“I was told I should see a dentist.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” He held the door open for me.

The office was a single narrow room with dark green wallpaper. It smelled faintly of mildew, but mostly of tobacco smoke and young men. There was an odd looking chair on the far end of the room and a couch along the wall closest to the door. On the couch reclined another young man. He had reddish-blond hair with a cowlick that not even a prodigious application of pomade had brought under control. He also had the beginnings of a mustache that was struggling to come in. It made him look much younger than Dr. Fuches, although I doubted that was the case. He was wearing a dark gray waistcoat and pants with a pale yellow shirt, all of which were wrinkled. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep until he lifted his hand and put a cigarette to his lips.

Dr. Fuches ushered me into the room, kicking the couch as he closed the door behind me.

“John Henry, I have a patient,” he said under his breath.

“And I have a raging headache,” the young man said in a slow drawl that made the G’s disappear from the end of his words. His voice was higher pitched than Dr. Fuches, a tenor to Fuches’s baritone. “I don’t know why you having a patient should matter to me.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much last night,” Fuches suggested quietly.

The other man opened his eyes to give Fuches a reproachful look. He glanced over at me and a crooked smile spread across his face. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a lady present?” He jumped up and tried to smooth out his waistcoat to make himself more presentable.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, taking my hand. “Dr. John Henry Holliday, at your service.”

His eyes held mine for a moment. They were an unusual color, a dark blue-gray, like the color of the ocean. His lips brushed the back of my hand and I couldn’t help but smile. Fuches scowled and shook his head.

I turned to address Dr. Fuches, but Dr. Holliday continued to hold my hand. “My name is Kate Fisher…” I began.

“The actress? From Mazeppa?” Dr. Holliday asked, cutting me off. His grip tightened on my hand.

“I hate to disappoint you, but no,” I said, smiling at him.

“Pity,” he said, returning my smile. “I didn’t think she was German anyway.”

I gently pulled my hand from his. “I’m Hungarian, and a dance hall girl, but maybe someday an actress.”

Dr. Holliday’s smile widened into a grin. “A dancing girl?”

“Please excuse my friend, Miss Fisher,” Dr. Fuches said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “He seems to have forgotten his manners. Now about this tooth?”

I forced myself to turn my attention from the roguish young Southerner back to the doctor I had come to see. “Yes, I have a tooth that has been bothering me for about a week. Your cousin -- Albert, I believe was his name -- recommended I see you. It’s on the lower left, towards the back.”

Dr. Fuches had me sit in the odd chair and proceeded to examine my teeth while Dr. Holliday went to the couch and resumed smoking his cigarette. I glanced over and caught him watching me. The wry, crooked grin had returned.

“Fuches, we really must find a place with more action this evening,” he said. “That place last night was a total bore. If you can’t do better I am on the next train to Atlanta.”

Dr. Fuches ignored his friend. “Miss Fisher, it appears you have a cavity that will need filling.”

Holliday snorted in amusement and I couldn’t help but catch on to the unintended lewdness of the comment and smiled as well. Dr. Fuches glowered at his friend.

“Dr. Holliday, if the lady does not mind, would you like to give a second opinion?”

“By all means!” He set aside his cigarette and launched himself from the couch.

When he leaned over to look at my teeth I could smell tobacco smoke and a whiff of cologne that smelled of dried flowers, talc, and musk that I recognized as a scent called Jockey Club. It was something dandies wore.

“Are you really a dentist, Dr. Holliday?” I asked quietly.

He smiled. “My apologies, Miss Fisher,” he said just as quietly. “I am not generally this uncouth. My poor mother, God rest her soul, would be rather ashamed of me, but I suspect that you are not offended.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I must have been carried away by your beauty. You have a lovely smile.”

My cheeks felt warm. I was mesmerized by those blue-gray eyes and his crooked smile.

“I suspect you say that to all the girls that come into this office.”

He chuckled. “Just the dancing girls with foreign accents and pretty green eyes.”

You know how you meet someone and want to know them better? You look at them and know immediately that you are going to like them. The first time I felt that way was about Janos Horvath when I was fourteen. I eventually kissed him behind the schoolhouse. I felt that way about this wild-haired boy.

“You have very fine teeth, Miss Fisher, but my friend here is correct,” he said. “You will need a filling.”

I was disappointed when he moved away from me.

“If you can return tomorrow afternoon--say one o’clock--I can take care of it,” Dr. Fuches said.

The thought of returning thrilled me so much that I didn’t even think about why he was asking me to come back. All I knew was that it meant I would have another chance to see Dr. Holliday.

“I shall see you tomorrow then,” I said, getting up from the chair. Then a thought occurred to me. “Unless I see you sooner.” I looked directly at Dr. Holliday. “If you are looking for some action tonight, might I suggest visiting my place of employment, the Theater Comique. It’s just around the corner. You can’t miss it.”

As I made my exit, I turned my head over my shoulder to look back at them and winked. Apparently I did want a dentist.