by John Locke
The rest of the women come up to me, one-at-a-time, to re-introduce themselves. I’d seen Carol, Laurie, Gerta, and Louise a scant twenty-eight months ago, but all four appear to have aged ten or fifteen years.
Lilly Gee’s the beauty of the bunch. She’s twenty-two. Her husband, Al, was kicked in the head by a horse some years ago, such that he could only eat, shit, and hoot like an owl. Lilly stood by his side faithfully, despite the fact she was widely coveted by men of all ages for her backside, and it’s as handsome as ever, from what I can tell. If she’s in this line it means Al’s finally passed on. Lilly nods at me from a distance, but declines smilin’ or comin’ closer. She probably showed up to see what I look like and don’t think much of what she sees. I can’t blame her for that. Nor would I care if she found me attractive, since I’m already spoken for. While Lilly don’t have Gentry’s looks, she’s clear-faced and well-formed, and it says a lot about the state of things in Dodge for her to be without a man, her bein’ right in the middle of her child-bearin’ years.
Alice Crapper looks the same. I smile as she approaches, rememberin’ how Gentry and I used to laugh about her name. She curtsies while sayin’, “It’s been awhile, Emmett. Hope you’ll come visit me, if you plan to stay in town awhile.”
“Thanks, Alice.”
She winks, and tosses her hair like a schoolgirl as she spins around to rejoin the others. I put Alice’s age at around thirty.
The last two, Margaret Stallings and May Gray, look at each other before Margaret decides to make her move. Margaret’s a good ten years older than me, and was married to a gifted farmer named Will. Her son, Charlie, was seventeen last I saw him. Charlie got his first poke from a one-eyed whore I brought here from Rolla, Missouri, named Mary Burns. Mary used to tease Charlie somethin’ unmerciful in public, but had a soft spot for the boy and often allowed him to dip in her well for little or no charge.
“How’s Burt?” I ask.
Margaret don’t respond. Just stares blankly, like she’s thinkin’ other thoughts.
“Charlie?” I say.
She looks at me with a grim face that’s tryin’ to force a smile, but two quick tears tell the story. They spill out her eye and run down her cheek. She don’t bother whisperin’, just says, “I’m available, Emmett,” and says nothin’ further.
Last one up is May Gray. Savin’ her comments for last, so I’ll remember ’em first. May approaches and says, “Walk with me a few steps, Emmett.”
I turn and we walk till we’re far enough away that the others can’t hear.
“Earl got himself killed, like all the others,” she says.
“I’m sorry to hear that, May.”
“We’re all in pain, Emmett. But in some ways, yours is worse, because you don’t know what Gentry’s done yet.”
I snap to attention. “What do you mean? Do you know something?”
May looks at the women behind her, then back at me, and says, “I have some information, but I can’t tell you here, in front of everyone.”
“Why not?”
“Gentry and I had a conversation. But she made me promise not to tell anyone about it.”
I never knew Gentry and May to be close enough to share secrets. May’s husband, Earl, used to drive dead bodies to Fort Dodge to be buried, and he frequented the saloon regularly, but Gentry barely knew May, and they never spoke publicly or privately, to my knowledge.
“Why would Gentry put you in her confidence, ’stead of Jim and Clara?” I ask.
“It’s true Gentry was partial to Jim and Clara. But I don’t think she wanted them to know her plans.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, Emmett. But if she did, she would’ve told them. And she didn’t.”
May has three young children at home, and has always treasured her house and garden. Her father owned valuable property in St. Louis, and used to send her provisions on a regular basis. I assume he’s still doin’ so, if she’s happy raisin’ her kids in a ghost town.
“How are your girls?” I say, tryin’ to be cordial.
“They’re fine, thanks for asking. And no trouble at all! On the contrary, they’re quite helpful to have around the house. All three can milk, churn butter, and sew. The oldest is a fine cook, and the youngest has a voice like a songbird. The middle one’s strong as an ox, and can prime a pump and carry two buckets of water all the way from the crick without stopping.”
“That must be nice for you.”
She nods.
I say, “When can we talk?”
“Come to my house tonight at eight. I’ll cut your hair and smooth your face and tell you the small bit I know about your Gentry.”
“I’ll be there,” I say.
13.
WHEN THE WOMEN pitch in to help, George and Art are thankful to quit workin’, and head home, before somethin’ else can be asked of ’em. These women are of strong pioneer stock, and ain’t afraid of work. Even Lilly, who ain’t interested in me, is workin’ up a sweat. It takes about an hour to get enough wood to set the five fires Tom Collins says will last us the rest of the day. The women watch Tom light the fire, and stick around till my screamin’ starts.
I knew it’d hurt, but the surprise is how much. We start right in with the cuffs instead of the chains, ’cause I don’t want to waste an extra two to four days. Jim handles the poker. When he presses it against the cuff around my leg, bits of sparks fly onto my skin and burn it. As he presses the poker harder, more sparks fly, and the cuff starts gettin’ hot. So hot that the wet cloth I’ve wrapped between my ankle and the cuff starts to smoke with steam. Seconds later it’s almost as hot as the poker, and the heat is comin’ through the cloth and boilin’ the open wounds in my ankles and feet. I dip some more water onto the cloth, and it sends a shower of steam so thick I can’t see my foot for several seconds. When the poker cools off, Jim pulls it away, and we inspect the cuff.
There’s an ash-gray circle on it, but no dent.
No dent whatsoever.
He looks at me and shakes his head.
“It’s a process,” I say. “Let’s light the next one.”
It goes like that all afternoon, and my whole body feels like it’s on fire. First, it’s August, and the heat is considerable. Second, I’ve been sittin’ by a roarin’ fire all afternoon. Third, I feel like my whole body’s infected on the inside from the beatin’ I took yesterday. Fourth, the bark medicine I drank has upset my stomach somethin’ awful. That’s a process, too, and one I’ve been through. It takes about three days for the birch bark to do its magic. Before my capture, I drank it every day, and it kept me from catchin’ all the colds and other sicknesses the travelers brought with ’em to Dodge in them days. But that medicine’ll give you the trots the first two days you drink it.
When the poker has cooled for the fifth time and my yelps have died down, Jim pulls the poker away, and just like the other four times, there’s a burn mark.
But no dent.
“Ain’t gonna work,” Jim says.
“It takes time,” I say. “Are you available tomorrow?”
He lifts his shirt tail and wipes the sweat from his face. “I’m good for maybe one more day,” he says. “But at this pace, it’ll take every last piece of wood from your saloon to get these chains off. And then where will you be?”
“I can rebuild, if I gotta. But these chains are a lot less fun than they look.”
He says, “I feel for you, Emmett.”
“I got it easy compared to most,” I say.
We shake hands, and he leaves. I remain seated another half hour, not darin’ to move till the cuff is no worse than warm to the touch. While I wait I think about Gentry, and the things that happened today. I wonder what May knows, and how reliable her information might be. It’s a promisin’ thought, but I don’t get my hopes up about it.
Mainly I think about the ten women, and how far they’ve fallen the past twenty-eight months. They’re humbled, but not beaten or broken. They’re survivors. Even
the strong-willed, harsh-tempered ones, like Claire and Jane showed a soft side today, and a willingness to work in the heat, and splinter their hands and backs and shoulders carryin’ heavy loads of wood in the stiflin’ heat. It only took ’em an hour to haul what we needed for the fire, but I’ve got every reason to believe they would’ve stayed all day if such had been necessary.
I shake my head, thinkin’ how I’d failed to appreciate these proper pioneer women. I never cared for their stern, churchy nature, and how they looked down on whores, and railed against pretty much everythin’ that makes a man happy, like fuckin’, drinkin’, fightin’ and gamblin’. But when it’s all said and done, it was the husbands and sons who run off to shoot their kinfolk, and the whores, cowboys, drinkers, and card players—the folks I always liked—who gave up on the town and cleared out. The only ones courageous enough to stay here and try to carve out a life are the tough, stern, pioneer women, and their small crop of kids who’ll be raised to be just as tough and useful as their ma’s.
I think about what May Gray said today. Not about Gentry, but about her children. How the oldest one’s a helluva cook and the youngest has a voice like a songbird, and the middle one’s strong as an ox and can prime a pump. I could’ve used her today to get the water I needed. The whores can pump water, of course, but most of ’em rely on men to do the pumpin’, and what other labor needs doin’. May said all three of her girls can sew, milk, and churn butter. Said they’re hard workers and useful to have around. Reason I’m thinkin’ these thoughts, none of the whores—not even Gentry—could cook any part of a decent meal. They didn’t do their mendin’ or even their own laundry. Sure, they were talented and helpful in other ways, but not in the ways that make a town survive, or help children learn useful skills.
Today I gained a new respect for these pioneer women, and resolve to make an attempt to be more tolerant of their naggy, bitchy, preachy ways.
14.
I’M HEADIN’ BACK to the Spur when I realize it’s gettin’ close to eight. I don’t want Jim to know how upset I am about how little we accomplished today, but in my heart I’m terribly discouraged.
I make fast work of feedin’ Scarlett and Rudy, and give ’em some water while I’m drinkin’ bark tea. The only thing liftin’ my spirits is whatever news May might have to share about Gentry. The good news is I’m no longer pissin’ blood, so I don’t have internal bleedin’. I’m happy about that, but my thoughts are on Gentry more than anythin’ or anybody else, so after takin’ Rudy and Scarlett outside to relieve themselves, I head for May Gray’s house, though I know I’m a few minutes early.
May shows a warm smile as she opens the door.
“Why Emmett, you’re early!” she says.
“I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Of course not. Please, come in the parlor and make yourself comfortable.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“Would you like a lemonade?”
“A…lemonade?”
“Do you not partake of sweet drinks?”
“Well, yes ma’am, I do. It’s just…I ain’t had a lemonade since I was a boy.”
“And did you enjoy the experience?”
“I did indeed. But how did you come by lemons?”
“My father sent us two bags of lemons, and some coffee. We shared them with the town ladies, so you might have several chances to drink lemonade or coffee this week.” She goes to the staircase and calls, “Girls? We have a guest. Come say hello.”
I hear gigglin’, then the sound of runnin’ feet, and now three girls are standin’ before me, tallest on the left, shortest on the right. The girls are fresh-scrubbed, well-scented, and wearin’ clean dresses. The younger two have bows in their hair. I remember May used to strip the clothes off the dead bodies before Earl carted ’em off to Fort Dodge to be buried. I knew her to be a fine seamstress, and a woman who enjoyed hostin’ the occasional dinner party.
“Introduce yourselves, ladies,” May says.
From right to left they are Ellie, Grace, and little Molly. Ellie’s ten, Grace is eight, Molly’s five. They smile and curtsy while introducing themselves. When they’re finished, I say, “You look beautiful, ladies,” and the younger ones giggle. Ellie ain’t quite as friendly, but she’s pleasant. Probably worried I’m here to take her Daddy’s place.
“Would you care for some lemonade, Mr. Love?” Ellie says.
“If it ain’t no bother,” I say.
As she heads to the kitchen I think about how this sweet little girl is only ten, and yet she’s the same age most of our whores were when they were forced into the business. Gentry herself was only two years older than Ellie when her parents sold her to a whore house in Jefferson City, Missouri. By the time I met her, she was seventeen, and had made her way to Rolla, tryin’ to save up enough money to head west.
I got nothin’ against whorin’, if a woman’s a certain age, like sixteen or older. But when a girl is ten or twelve, which the law allows, that’s an injustice. The thought of grown men plowin’ into these children’s privates makes me see red. When I’m in a respectable settin’ like this, where I can see the results of good parentin’ like what May has done with these kids, I feel sorry for the sufferin’ our whores experienced in their youth. I don’t know how Gentry and the others managed to keep a happy disposition after what’s been done to them. I’m reminded of how an hour earlier I was thinkin’ badly about the whores for not learnin’ how to cook and sew. But how could they have learned them things and other social graces while bein’ forced to give up their childhoods? Now that I think on it, I realize with regard to proper women and whores, one kind a’ woman ain’t no better or worse than another, and there’s somethin’ good to be said for all of ’em. Mostly, I’m happy for parents like May, who love their children, and want to protect ’em, and are willing to teach ’em how to make a home.
While I’m drinkin’ lemonade, May has little Molly sing a couple of hymns. When she’s done I say, “That was right lovely, Molly. You’ve got a beautiful voice, and that’s a fact.”
She beams, curtsies, and points at my leg irons.
“Molly!” Ellie scolds.
“It’s all right,” I say. “She wouldn’t be normal if she didn’t wonder about ’em.”
May says, “Girls, Mr. Love was captured by the Union Army, put in chains, and forced to work on a railroad. He’s been at the blacksmith’s shop all afternoon trying to burn them off. Any luck with that, Emmett?”
“No ma’am,” I say.
She frowns. “That must be terribly discouraging.”
“It is. But I ain’t givin’ up.”
“No, of course not. And I’ll be proud to help you with the wood tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all,” she says, smilin’.
“Do they hurt?” Grace says.
“They’re more of a nuisance than anythin’ else.”
“I don’t know how you stand it,” she says. “They’d make me crazy.”
I smile at how such a grown up sentence can flow so smoothly from such a young girl. Then Ellie shows her considerable cipherin’ skills by recitin’ her times tables. When she gets to her sixes, I say, “I’m trustin’ you to be honest from here on out.”
She laughs and goes all the way to twelve times twelve, which she claims is a hundred and forty-four. I look at May.
“She’s right,” May says.
Then all three girls have a short conversation in French, and May has me call out some random words to see if her girls know how to say ’em in French. They didn’t know “gunslinger” or “dynamite,” but surprised me by gettin’ “outhouse” and “stagecoach.”
May’s got a nice little family here, and it’s clear her children mean the world to her. I s’pect no matter how bad things get, she’d never sell any of ’em to a whorehouse.
May tells Ellie to warm up some dinner for me.
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I say. “I
’ve got some corn dodgers back at my place.”
“Nonsense,” she says. “You’ll have beefsteak and peas, and rhubarb pie, just as we did, earlier tonight.”
“Rhubarb pie?”
“Finest in the county.”
I want to ask about havin’ steak, peas and pie when others in town are eatin’ horsemeat, but I suppose May can’t be expected to share everythin’ her father sends. I also want to ask about Gentry, but don’t want to appear rude. May knows why I came, and she’ll get to the point eventually. In the meantime, it won’t hurt to have my first decent meal in more than two years, and possibly a shave and a haircut, if she was serious about that part earlier today.
Within minutes I’m sittin’ at the kitchen table, tuckin’ into a thick slice of beef, while the girls wait on me, pourin’ water, and settin’ this plate down and pickin’ that one up. I find the steak tender and tasty, as good as I’ve had in any restaurant. There were biscuits, too, and field peas picked fresh from her garden.
“These are the best field peas I ever tasted,” I say.
“Why Emmett,” May says, showin’ me her warmest smile. “Thank you for saying that!”
“Well, it’s true.”
As dusk turns to dark, May says, “You girls go on up to your room, now, and keep the door closed. Mr. Love and I have some grown up things to discuss.”
15.
GRACE AND MOLLY curtsy and tell me goodnight, and scamper upstairs. Ellie lingers until May gives her a warnin’ look. Then Ellie says, “Goodnight, Mr. Love. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Goodnight, Ellie. You, too.”
When May’s comfortable the girls are locked away for the night, she serves me a slice of rhubarb pie. I eat it so fast she laughs out loud. After my second piece of pie, she sets a bucket of water behind my chair and slides another chair behind the bucket. Then she gets out a razor, a comb, and a pair of scissors, and ties an apron around my neck and fans it out behind me. Then says, “Oops.”
“Oops?”
