Sweet Laurel

by Millie Criswell

  “Honey, didn’t your sister ever tell you the facts of life? Being with a man, like you’ve been with Chance . . . Well, it often results in a woman getting herself with child.”

  Remembering all the lectures she’d received from Heather on keeping her virginity intact, Laurel smiled self-deprecatingly. “I received plenty of information from my older sister, all except the facts that explained how a man’s kiss made you feel all jittery inside, and how the touch of a man’s hand on your breast made you forget everything proper you were taught.” She sighed. Those were the things that should have been taught; those were the things that took an innocent young woman off guard and made her vulnerable to a man.

  Crystal clasped Laurel’s hand, needing to make sure the young woman realized the reality of her situation. The time for moonbeams and fairy tales was over. It was time for Laurel to face the harsh facts of life.

  “I know you love Chance, honey, and I’m sure you’re pleased to be carrying his child, but a woman faced with the predicament you’re in needs to understand a few things. An unmarried mother is the same as a whore in folks’ eyes. A woman who bears a child out of wedlock bears a bastard. And that woman is ostracized, ridiculed, and held in contempt.”

  Pain filled Crystal’s eyes, and it was easy to see that she spoke from experience. “Respectable ladies will cross the street to avoid being near you, Laurel. They’ll gather their children to them, to protect them from the wicked whore who played fast and loose with a man.”

  “But I’m not like that, Crystal! I love Chance. I wouldn’t have made love with him, if I didn’t.”

  “Honey, don’t you think I know that? Your feelings were pure, but that’s not going to change things. Unless Chance gives you the protection of his name, you’re going to be considered a fallen woman.”

  “Chance isn’t going to marry me, Crystal, and I don’t want you telling him anything about this. You must promise me.” She had no intention of trapping the footloose gambler into a marriage he didn’t want, especially for the sake of a child.

  “I promise, honey. But have you thought of all the consequences? Have you thought about what those temperance women will do when they discover you’re with child? They’ll toss you out on your rear without batting an eyelash.”

  Though Laurel hated to believe that, she knew Crystal spoke the truth. Hortensia couldn’t afford to have the league’s name smeared with scandal. And Drucilla would waste little time spreading the news of Laurel’s downfall among the members. “I never realized how loving a man could cause so much difficulty.” She hung her head. “My life appears to be ruined.”

  “It doesn’t have to be, Laurel. There are ways to rid yourself of the child.”

  Her hand protectively covering the growing life within her, Laurel asked in confusion, “What are you saying?”

  “A woman in my profession learns how to protect herself, honey. There were times when I found myself in the same predicament as you.”

  Laurel was shocked by the disclosure. “You never told me you had children, Crystal. Where are they? Why aren’t they—”

  “I don’t have children, Laurel. I got rid of them.”

  “You gave your own children away? But, Crystal . . .”

  “Dammit, Laurel,” Crystal’s voice was harsher than she’d intended. “How naive you are, honey. There are ways for a woman to rid herself of a child she doesn’t want, or isn’t able to care for. It’s called an abortion, and it’s done before the baby is even formed.”

  “When you say ‘rid,’ do you mean that I should destroy Chance’s child?” At Crystal’s nod, a look of abhorrence crossed Laurel’s face. “I could never do such a thing. It’s not right. It’s his child, too, Crystal.”

  “But what if he doesn’t want it, honey? What if he won’t marry you? Think, Laurel. What will you do then?”

  Crystal’s questions bombarded Laurel, bringing tears of pain and uncertainty. “I . . . I don’t know. Perhaps I can go back to Kansas.”

  “To live with your sister and a man she isn’t married to? She’s likely to end up the same as you, honey. From what you’ve told me, the duke isn’t exactly thrilled with her presence.”

  That was the God’s awful truth, and it stung like the tears behind Laurel’s eyelids. Her choices were narrow to nonexistent, Laurel thought. If only Chance had loved her enough to marry her, then none of this would have mattered. But he didn’t love her, and it did matter. She was a woman alone, barely able to support herself. How would she care for a small baby—a baby who would depend on her for its very existence?

  “I know a woman who can help you, Laurel. Her name is Madam Eula, and she performs this operation for most of the prostitutes in the city.”

  Laurel’s laughter was almost hysterical. “Well then, I guess I’d be in good company, wouldn’t I?”

  “Pregnancy is just another harsh reality of life that a woman must face. Men take their pleasure and women pay the consequence. It’s been that way since the beginning of time.”

  “I can’t lay all of what happened on Chance’s doorstep. I had my pleasure, too. I could have said no, but I didn’t. I’m as much to blame as Chance. It takes two to make a baby.”

  “But Chance will go on with his life as if nothing ever happened, Laurel, while yours will change forever. Life’s not fair, and it sure as heck’s not equal, by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “I need time to think about all this, Crystal. I can’t make such an important decision on the spur of the moment.”

  “Just don’t take too long, honey. Madam Eula won’t perform the abortion after too much time has passed; it’s too dangerous.”

  Laurel rose from her chair to stare out the window at the darkening gunmetal sky. The gloominess matched her mood exactly; there wasn’t one ray of hope, one glimmer of sunshine to hitch her future to. Everything was as gray as the reality of her situation.

  Turning back to face her friend, she said, “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “How come Miss Laurel don’t come visit no more, Chance? I miss, miss, miss her.”

  “Miss Laurel . . . miss Laurel . . . miss Laurel,” Percy repeated, much to Chance’s great annoyance.

  Lifting a heavy wooden crate, Chance stacked it atop another and straightened, his hand pressed to his lower back. “We had a disagreement, Whitey. Laurel’s mad at me.”

  “Yep. She surely is,” Jup agreed, shaking his head sadly. “And I surely do miss her smiling face. Miss Laurel was like a ray of pure sunshine. Bertha’s still grievin’ over that child being gone.”

  Whitey handed up another whiskey crate to his cousin. “You shouldn’t’a been mean to Miss Laurel, Chance. Bertha told me you was mean. Miss Laurel was my friend. Now I ain’t got no friend.”

  Sighing, and wishing Bertha would keep her unflattering opinions to herself, Chance replied, “You’ve got me, Whitey. I’m your friend.”

  “But you don’t teach me my letters, and Miss Laurel made me feel like I was smart. She didn’t do nasty stuff like Miss Pearl . . .” the big man blushed, “and she was always nice to me.”

  “I know, Whitey, but . . .”

  “Miss Laurel used to read to me and Bertha stories from the Bible,” Jup added, smiling in remembrance. “Why, once, when I had me a misery in my back, she made a hot mustard compress for me. Miss Laurel was always doing nice for others.”

  Chance’s face filled with anguish. “She won’t talk to me, I tell you! She hates me.”

  “Give her some tongue, babe. Give her some tongue, babe.”

  All three heads whipped around to stare at the parrot, who was doing a sprightly little dance on top of a whiskey crate. Jup was the first to respond.

  “Seems like that bird finally has hisself a fine idea. Yessir! A mighty fine idea.”

  The burning look Chance shot the bird could have roasted him in seconds. He transferred that same look to his two companions, who were grinning like hyenas. “Are you n
uts? Laurel’d bite my head off if I so much as tried to talk to her.” There was no telling what she’d do to his tongue!

  “Sometimes a man’s got to swallow his pride and say he’s sorry.”

  Whitey nodded at Jup’s advice. “Tell Miss Laurel you’re sorry, sorry, sorry, Chance. Pleeeese.”

  At the pleading look on both men’s faces, Chance rubbed the back of his neck, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! All right. I’ll go and apologize.”

  Whitey beamed.

  “I’ll swallow my pride and say I’m sorry.”

  Jup grinned.

  “I’ll even stick my tongue down her throat if she’ll let me.”

  Chance hardened.

  “But I’m not, I repeat, not, riding over there on a goddamn white charger.”

  * * *

  Though it wasn’t marked as such, the weather-beaten building known as Madam Eula’s to almost every prostitute in Denver, and a few society matrons as well, stood by itself on the edge of the tenderloin district, as if ostracized by the very people who made use of it.

  A knot of apprehension filled Laurel’s stomach as she approached the dilapidated home and stepped onto the sagging porch, holding on to Crystal’s arm for support, moral and otherwise. After a sleepless night of soul-searching, she’d come to the dismal conclusion that Madam Eula offered the only alternative to her predicament.

  “I’m so scared, Crystal,” she confessed to her companion. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” Her teeth chattered from the cold, and from the fear that filled her every pore.

  “You’ll be fine, honey. Madam Eula’s not so bad. And after everything’s said and done, you’ll know you made the right decision—the only decision you could have made.”

  A stench so foul it made Laurel’s eyes water greeted the two women when they stepped into the outer room, where they were met by a young black girl about ten years of age.

  “Madam’s busy. You all have to wait here a minute,” she said in a sing-song voice, then skipped off as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her actions seemed incongruous with the seriousness of the occasion.

  “That’s Eula’s daughter,” Crystal whispered. “She’s not quite right in the head.”

  Neither was she, Laurel thought, for coming to this horrible place to begin with. She had half-convinced herself to leave when a black woman weighing at least three hundred pounds appeared, wearing a bloodstained apron and carrying a basin filled with reddish brown water. The sight brought bile rising to her throat.

  Balancing her burden on her hip, the woman nodded at Crystal, whom she recognized. “You be in trouble again, pretty girl? I thought I taught you how to stop the seeds from growin’ before they took root by usin’ the alum douches and the pisser.”

  Not knowing that such things were possible, Laurel’s eyes widened.

  “I haven’t come for myself this time, Madam Eula. I’m here for my friend, Laurel!”

  Eula nodded, set the basin on a nearby bench, and ushered the two women into the back room, where Laurel pulled up short, eyeing a bloodstained table with revulsion.

  There were two curtained partitions for Eula’s “patients” to recover after the procedure, and one drape was closed, indicating that it was presently occupied. Dirty medical instruments—the tools of Madam Eula’s trade—lay waiting on an equally unsanitary counter for the next patient. A shiver trailed down Laurel’s spine at the thought.

  “You be that temperance woman, no? You be in fine fix if them proper ladies find out you’s carrying a child, no?” Her dark eyes held more practicality than sympathy.

  Laurel swallowed with great difficulty and nodded. “Crystal said I should talk to you to find out what’s involved. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  The woman studied Laurel, assessing her from head to toe. “Take off the coat and the dress. I need to examine you to see how much the baby has grown.”

  At Crystal’s silent encouragement, Laurel did as she was instructed, feeling mortified that a complete stranger should see her in her underclothing.

  What would her sisters say if they knew she had come to such a terrible, disappointing end? What would her beloved papa say? She’d been the one with such promise—“the golden girl,” her papa had called her. Well, she wasn’t golden any longer; she was tarnished goods now.

  “Is the examination going to hurt?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from trembling or tears from moistening her eyes.

  “Not as much as the operation, child.” Eula chuckled, placing her hands on Laurel’s abdomen. “You still pretty flat on the outside, but that don’t mean nothin’. The babe could be larger than we think. I need to feel inside, too.”

  Glancing down at Eula’s large hands, Laurel cringed. They were dirty, the fingernails jagged and caked with blood. Laurel shook her head, unable to tolerate the idea of Madam Eula touching her most intimate area with hands that had touched so many others. “No,” she said, taking a step back from the woman. “I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be needing your services after all.”

  “Laurel,” Crystal chided gently, clasping her friend’s arm. “Are you sure? I know you’re afraid, but Madam Eula is very good at what she does. Remember what we talked about.”

  “I’m sure. I wasn’t before, but I am now. I’m going to have Chance’s baby and suffer any consequence that may result. It wouldn’t be fair for me to make an innocent child suffer for my stupidity. And I can’t bring myself to harm Chance’s child. It’s part of him, after all.”

  A deep frown etched the black woman’s face. Time was money to Eula, and she hadn’t made a dime yet. “Don’t be wastin’ no more of my time then. I got others to tend. You go on your way now, and don’t be botherin’ Eula again.”

  With apologies to the woman, Crystal pressed two dollar bills into her palm for her trouble, helped Laurel dress, and hurried them both out the door.

  “I’m sorry, Crystal, but I just couldn’t go through with it,” Laurel said once they were outside again, gulping in huge breaths of fresh air.

  Wrapping a comforting arm about her friend’s shoulder, Crystal hugged Laurel to her. “That’s all right, honey. Madam Eula’s not for everyone. We’ll go back to Mrs. Costello’s and put our heads together. Surely we’ll be able to think of something.”

  Mumbling invectives under her breath about the foolishness of some folks, Madam Eula waddled to the curtained partition at the back of the small room and pulled back the drapery.

  “You feel better now?” she asked.

  The whore repressed her satisfied smile and nodded. “I’m fine, you fat bitch. Now help me up off this table. I’ve got important matters to attend to.”

  “You shouldn’t be getting to your feet yet, Miss Pearl. It’s only been thirty minutes since we took the child. I tol’ you to wait another hour at least.”

  Pearl could almost savor the sweet taste of revenge on the tip of her tongue. When news of Laurel’s pregnancy became public, she’d be ruined—dishonored—cast aside, as Pearl had been cast aside by Chance.

  The knowledge that Chance and his little whore would finally get their just desserts made any discomfort she felt quite bearable, even worthwhile.

  She smiled maliciously. “Good things come to those who wait,” Al had told her many times. Apparently Al was right.

  CHAPTER 23

  Chance approached the door to Mrs. Costello’s boarding hotel with a knot in his stomach the size of a watermelon. The flowers he held—a bouquet of golden chrysanthemums that Bertha had tossed at him before he fled out the door—looked as if they might wilt under the severe turbulence they were being subjected to. Not because of the blowing wind, but because his hands were shaking so badly.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he chided himself, feeling like a goddamn fool for being so nervous. Laurel was only a woman, after all. But she was damned important to a lot of people, especially him.

  The knock at the front door brought Crystal and Laurel to their
feet. Mrs. Costello was at the rear of the house preparing dinner, and most of the temperance workers were at a rally sponsored by Reverend Fodor’s Episcopal church.

  Support for the women’s temperance movement had grown tremendously. Many of the local churches and newspapers had offered their support, both monetarily and in sponsoring various events the league held, and Laurel supposed that another reporter had come to ferret out the latest bit of gossip about what the women were presently planning. The Decency Code campaign had thrust everyone involved into the limelight—a spot Laurel definitely didn’t want to be in at the moment.

  “Let me get it, honey. You’ve had a trying morning.” Crystal urged Laurel to sit back down, fully intending to bar admittance to any reporter who might be lurking outside the door. Laurel didn’t need such aggravation at the moment. And neither did she!

  Crystal pulled back the white lace curtain, smiled widely as she turned back to face Laurel, who once again had her nose buried between the pages of a romantic novel.

  “You won’t need to keep reading that mushy stuff, Laurel. Your very own Prince Charming has arrived, and he’s brought flowers.”

  Laurel launched herself off the sofa, and the book went crashing to the floor. The pounding on the door continued, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as the beating of her heart. “Chance is here?” She could hardly believe it. It was as if the fates had sent him to her just when she needed him the most.

  Don’t get your hopes up, Laurel, she told herself. But he was bringing flowers. And that was a good sign.

  “Shall I answer it, or will you?” Crystal asked, grinning at her friend’s rapturous expression. “He’s likely to freeze his you-know-whats off if you don’t make up your mind soon.”

  “You answer it,” Laurel directed. “I need to compose myself before I see him. I don’t want to appear too anxious. After all, I’m the one who stormed out on him.”

  Returning a moment later with Chance in tow, Crystal looked like a proud mama who’d just snared the biggest catch of the century. On the other hand, Chance looked blatantly ill-at-ease—almost nervous. It surprised Laurel to see the usually calm and composed gambler in such a state; it also gave her a teeny bit more self-confidence.