She turned away, taking a deep breath. Going to a mirror, she checked to be sure her hair was in a proper bun, then donned a small straw hat and a dark blue cape that accented her lighter blue dress. She realized she would have to find a seamstress who could make her some plainer dresses. Hers were too fancy for a town like Alder. It made her stand out a bit too much. She would have to ask Ma Kelly about a seamstress so she’d know where to look. She pulled on some gloves, wondering when the pain in her shoulder would subside.
Hoping the necklace she’d hidden in the lining of her trunk would be safe, she walked out the door. It was time to get used to life in Alder.
Ten
Elizabeth made her way through the town, determined not to allow anything or anyone to stop or intimidate her, including Sheriff Mitch Brady. He had no right ordering her around. After all, she’d made the decision to come here and she’d learn to survive here on her own.
Barreling straight ahead, she ignored the stares as best she could, shutting out some of the remarks and not answering questions about whether or not she would attend the hanging tomorrow. She headed for a fairly large tent Ma Kelly told her was just a few buildings down from the boardinghouse, where a sign hung that read Sarah’s.
“Be aware that Sarah has other ways of making money besides sewing,” Ma Kelly had told Elizabeth. “But if you need more dresses, she’s all you’ve got.”
Elizabeth decided she would just have to get used to the kind of people who lived here and not judge them. If living among them meant never being found and starting a whole new life, then so be it. Many of the people here had some reason for accepting this kind of life, other than gold. Some intended to get rich by supplying the miners…or in the case of women like Hildy and Sarah, servicing the miners in other ways. Surely there was a host of other ways to make a living. The miners needed food, clothing, tools, and horses and mules, which in turn needed shoes and feed and grooming. They needed legal help in filing claims, plus they needed lumber, lamps and the oil to light those lamps, utensils, pots and pans and dishes, soap, candles, towels, boots, and shoes. They needed barbers and bathhouses, loved their liquor, and their children needed teaching. Maybe some of the miners themselves needed help in that area, perhaps in reading contracts and claim forms. From what she’d seen so far, a lot of men in this town were poorly educated.
The street was alive with the sounds of men sawing through wood, hammers pounding nails, and horse-and-wagon traffic in the street hauling lumber and supplies for a town straining to change from a tent city to one of real wood buildings. Elizabeth remembered reading somewhere that out West, gold towns sprang up like mushrooms and sometimes died as fast as they grew. She supposed Alder would last as long as the gold in the hills lasted, and she wondered what it was like to pan for gold. Living out in the mountains and along cold streams had to be difficult, especially for any woman who’d come along to be with her husband while he searched.
Perhaps life here wouldn’t be so bad after all, when one considered all the needs a growing town presented. It offered options to anyone with a decent education to make a living without trudging into the distant hills to look for gold. Perhaps she could write a town newsletter, or even start a newspaper. People here seemed to hunger for any kind of entertainment. That was obvious from the fact that a good many of them actually looked forward to a gruesome hanging. Her head swam with all the possibilities, including her first choice—teaching—but she reminded herself she’d need to be very careful not to do something that might draw too much attention outside of Alder.
By the time she reached Sarah’s, she noticed a throng of men were following behind her. She was beginning to understand why Mitch said she should have an escort, but she was determined to prove to him and to herself that she could do this on her own.
“You goin’ to see Sarah about maybe workin’ for her over at the Saddleback Saloon?” some man behind her asked.
“Whooee!” another shouted. “There’s gonna be some good fights over who gets to be your first customer, lady!”
Elizabeth abruptly walked into Sarah’s tent and closed the flap, standing stiff as she looked around inside. Half-finished clothes and stacks of material lined the walls, leaving just enough room in the center for the table where a middle-aged woman was cutting some material. She looked up, her eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Are you Sarah?” Elizabeth asked, holding her chin high.
The woman nodded. “I am. Name’s Sarah Cooper.”
Elizabeth thought she looked very tired, her red hair pinned into a clumsy bun at the back of her neck, circles under her brown eyes. She was of medium build, her blue dress well fitted.
“And my name is Elizabeth Wainright. I came here—”
“I know who you are and how you got here, honey. What do you need?”
It was a bit unnerving to realize that on only her third day here, the whole town knew who she was and about her involvement in the stagecoach disaster. Elizabeth wondered if it was all the talk clear out in the mountain mining camps already. “Well, Ma Kelly told me you’re pretty much the only seamstress in town,” she told Sarah. “I can sew a little, but mostly I knit and crochet and embroider. I came here with only four dresses, and they are all a bit too fancy to wear here. I need some more practical dresses, and I was hoping you could make some for me. I can pay you.”
“I wouldn’t make them for any other reason,” Sarah smirked, looking Elizabeth over. “So—you’re the one those men attacked.”
“Yes.”
Sarah picked up a cup of coffee and sipped some of it. “You seem to be handling it well. I heard you were hurt, and all that violence and shooting must have been quite a shock.”
Elizabeth ached to spill out her terror to someone, anyone, especially a woman. Oh, how she missed her mother! “I’ll be fine, thank you,” she answered, feeling defensive of her own feelings. How could she confide in this total stranger, who according to Ma Kelly was more than just a seamstress?
“Well, be careful. The aftereffects of something like that can sneak up on you at unexpected times. I know. I’ve had a few bad experiences of my own.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to say. “I…I’m fine for now.”
Sarah smoothed her dress and nodded. “I hear Mitch Brady has an eye for you.”
The remark embarrassed Elizabeth. How on earth had such news, which was not even necessarily true, traveled so fast? Had Mitch already been to see the woman since he left this morning? And if so, what on earth had he told her? “I wouldn’t know about that,” she answered. “I’ve known the man all of three days. He simply stopped what was happening and brought me here afterward. That’s all there is to it.”
Sarah chuckled. “Honey, I’ve seen Mitch Brady in action, and with him, nothing is that simple. Considering what must have happened out there, surely you had to be impressed. One of Mitch’s specialties is rescuing women, even the whores, if some man decides to use one of us to vent his anger with fists or a knife.”
One of us. The woman used the expression as though there was nothing unusual about it. Elizabeth forced back a need to shudder. “I don’t know much about the man and I don’t particularly care,” she answered. “Can you make the dresses?”
Sarah shrugged. “Sure. Look around at the bolts of cloth here and pick some out. You’re about the size of another woman I make dresses for. I shouldn’t need to do much measuring, except that you’re a bit taller than average.” She set the coffee aside and rose, putting her hands on her hips. “How did something as young and pretty as you get through that mob of no-goods out there?”
Elizabeth walked over to a wood table where bolts of cloth lay in piles. “I just looked straight ahead and ignored their stares and their filthy talk.”
Sarah chuckled. “Well, then, I admire your courage, honey.” She fell silent then as Elizabeth sorted through the material, but Eliza
beth could feel the woman watching her. By the time she chose three samples, Sarah was sitting at a sewing machine, which whirred quietly as the woman used her feet to pump the machine’s pedal, which in turn forced a needle up and down through the seam of what looked like a man’s shirt. Elizabeth thought it odd that a woman of the evening actually had domestic talents, but then Sarah was, after all, a woman like any other. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Oh, my mother taught me from a very young age.”
Her mother. The words reminded Elizabeth of her own mother and how much she missed her. She felt a sudden urge to cry. “Where is your mother now?”
“She died a long time ago,” Sarah answered. “Like her, I made my living sewing. Then I got married and my husband decided to come West and make his fortune. That was in ’56. That didn’t work out and he ended up dying in a mine collapse in California. I started back East but realized I had nothing to go back home to, so I stayed on…ended up in Colorado. I found out that you can’t always survive just by making shirts for men, and then one came along who decided to force me to learn a better way to make money.”
Elizabeth shivered, not really wanting to hear such a horror story. It only reminded her of her own experience, which had made her flee New York. Would she end up like this, cooking and doing laundry for others by day and sleeping with men for money by night? “I…I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Oh, I should have realized it could happen at any time.” Sarah kept sewing as she talked, not looking at Elizabeth. “By the time he got done with me, I decided to stab him to death one night when he was passed out drunk. I fled Colorado and worked my way through various mining camps over the years, and now I’m here in Alder. I’m getting too old to make a lot of money at…well…” She sighed. “So I’ve turned back to sewing to make ends meet.”
Elizabeth felt like crying. “I…I was hoping I could make my way by teaching, perhaps starting a newspaper, things like that.”
Sarah shrugged. “You might be able to.” She finally met Elizabeth’s gaze. “Do what you can to avoid the ultimate way most women out here make their living.”
They shared a look of understanding. Elizabeth knew from experience how one bad experience could steal away a woman’s pride. She wished she knew this woman well enough to talk to her about her own experience with Alan Radcliffe. “I have every intention of avoiding such a life,” she answered.
Sarah smiled. “Young lady, I can tell you right now, Mitch Brady would never allow it anyway. And God help the man who tries to force anything on you. He’ll have to answer to Mitch, and you don’t want to know what Mitch can do to a man.”
“I’ve already seen what he can do.”
“Not to a man who’d abuse a woman, even the whores.”
Elizabeth was stunned at the woman’s frank attitude toward such a reprehensible practice, although part of her understood and sympathized with what had happened to her. “Why do you think that is?”
Sarah shrugged. “That’s for Mitch to explain, if he chooses.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Well, I hope you are able to make your living as only a seamstress eventually,” she told Sarah, “if that’s what you want. I would think that there are plenty of men here who need shirts and pants and such, and the women…no matter what their occupation…all need dresses.”
“Oh, a lot of clothing is shipped here from Virginia City. But there is always a need for more, and in winter we sometimes get snowed in and supplies can’t get through. There aren’t enough wives here to make clothes for their men, so I’m busier in winter.” Sarah stopped her work at the sewing machine and leaned back. “So, show me the material you want me to use and tell me if you want any special design.”
Elizabeth laid three different bolts of cloth on a nearby table, one a blue gingham material, one an array of tiny flowers with a pale green background, and one a medium brown color with tiny yellow flowers in the print. “Nothing special. Just simple dresses with a slightly scooped neckline because of the heat, and a simple button-down front.” She folded her arms. “I wonder if you could tell me how to go about letting people know I can teach.”
Sarah looked her over again. “Well, I have to say you could get very rich very fast at the other profession we discussed, but I can see you aren’t cut out for that. As far as teaching, I would simply get paper and pen and post some notices around town letting people know where they can reach you.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you. Where would I find some paper and such?”
Sarah shrugged. “I’d try Carl Jackson’s place—little log building across the street and down a ways. He brings in a lot of that kind of thing for all his paperwork. Calls himself an attorney, but a lot of men call themselves a lot of things out here. No way to prove it, although he seems to do a decent job and knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, I met him the day of the trial, if you can call it a trial.”
Sarah laughed. “Vigilante law is nothing like the law back East, is it?” She shook her head. “Watch Jackson, though. He’s a smooth talker and I suspect a bit of a shyster. He seems to end up with shares in a lot of the mines he helps men lay claim to.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Is there anyone in this town who can be trusted?”
“Sure.” Sarah smiled. “Me, Ma Kelly, and Mitch Brady. I’ll bet he told you to get yourself a gun, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but I don’t like the idea.”
“Well, he’s right. Get one. Most of the women around here carry one. I’ve already used mine, and I’m not even young and pretty like you. Of course if word gets around you’re Mitch’s girl, you’ll be pretty safe.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not anyone’s girl and I don’t want to be.”
“I didn’t say you had to be, but if those men believe you belong to Mitch, even if it’s not true, let them believe it. It will help you.”
Elizabeth wondered if there was anyone in town whose life wasn’t affected in some way by Mitch Brady. “I’ll keep that in mind. How long before you can have a dress ready?”
“Oh, give me three or four days for the first one. I work pretty fast. I’ll need about ten or twelve days for all three dresses. I charge two dollars a dress plus the cost of the material, usually about fifty cents.”
“That’s fine.” Elizabeth turned and opened the door. “Shall I come back here on a certain day?”
“No. I’ll bring them to you. It’s best you stay off the streets as much as you can, and coming here too often is a bad idea. Men will get to thinking we’re discussing something other than these dresses.”
Elizabeth felt embarrassed. “Fine. I’m staying at Ma Kelly’s.”
“I know where you’re staying.”
Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh. “It seems everyone in this town knows all about me.”
“News travels fast in places like this. People are hungry for something to talk about, and the arrival of a young, pretty, unattached woman who’s a lady to boot is food for all kinds of gossip. You be careful out there now.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you. I will.”
She stepped outside to see most of her following had dispersed, to her great relief. She headed out and across the street to Carl Jackson’s little log office, but as she passed a saloon on the way, someone reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her into a room full of smoke, piano music, laughter, and bearded men who surrounded her.
Eleven
Strong arms began whirling Elizabeth around a straw-and-peanut-shell-covered dirt floor to a fast-strutting tune coming from a piano and a fiddle.
“Don’t worry, honey,” assured the short, bearded man who’d grabbed her. “We all think you’re quite the beautiful, respectable lady. We just want a dance, that’s all.”
Elizabeth was so startled she hardly knew what
to say or do. Would they be insulted and get rowdier if she fought this?
“Least you can do is be a hurdy-gurdy gal,” her partner told her before another man shoved him off and started dancing with her. This one was taller and darker and smellier. Elizabeth heard women laughing in the background. Were they laughing at her? “Hurdy-gurdy girls can get rich real fast!”
“I really don’t want to dance,” Elizabeth protested, half yelling above the whooping men and loud piano playing. “It hurts my shoulder.”
“Just one little dance, lady?” her partner begged.
“Really, I…”
Suddenly a big fist rammed into her partner’s jaw, sending the man flying across two tables. He landed against a bar stool and everyone backed away from Elizabeth. She turned to see Mitch Brady standing there with a dark look of rage in his eyes. “The lady said she didn’t want to dance!” He scanned the room. “Everybody here understand that?”
The man Mitch had clobbered rolled to his knees, groaning.
“Stu was only wantin’ a dance, Mitch,” another man spoke up. “Ain’t no harm in that.”
“There is when the woman was dragged in here against her will and never agreed to the dance!”
Everyone backed farther away, and Elizabeth could see no one in the room was about to give Mitch any more trouble.
“You broke my goddamn nose!” Mitch’s victim grumbled. Two other men helped him to his feet. He held a hand to his nose, but blood was running from under his hand and dripping onto his shirt.
“Oh, Mitch, you didn’t have to hit him that hard,” Elizabeth protested, feeling sorry for the man.
Mitch looked down at her with a scowl. “Believe me, I did have to hit him that hard, or he and some of the other drunks in here would have danced you till you collapsed. After that things would have gotten worse.” He took hold of Elizabeth’s arm and led her toward the swinging doors at the saloon entrance. “Let’s go,” he said.
Desperate Hearts Page 8
