by Tracey Cross
She nodded. “She’ll be all right, Franklin. God is watching over her. But hurry.”
He nodded and forced himself to smile as he shut the door behind him. Before mounting, he checked the saddle and harness.
Thankfully, the rain had blown over, and dusk was settling as he rode out of Sidney. He waved at the sentry and headed toward Deadwood.
Was God watching over her? He wished he could believe it. But what about Martha? Was God watching over Martha when—coldness gripped his heart. If anyone was going to rescue Jane Albright, it would have to be him.
Chapter Nine
Mid-July
Bedlow’s Saloon never closed. Consequently, the saloon girls took shifts sleeping. Though she’d only been working for Bedlow for six weeks, Jane felt like she hadn’t slept in years. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her body felt bruised and battered.
Still, she was thankful. For all of his innuendo and cruelty, Bedlow had not forced her to entertain the men or prostitute herself. Instead, she was forced to clean the filthy, spit-spattered floors and walls, the vomit when the men exceeded their limits, and the blood from the inevitable fights that broke out each night. And she did it with thanks, knowing the alternative was serving the way poor Molly had been forced to pay back her so-called debt. The difference was that Bedlow fancied himself in love with Jane, though she couldn’t fathom why. There was no hiding her pregnancy now. The last time she’d passed the mirror, she looked much less than her best.
The backbreaking, constant work left her little time for rest on the narrow cot Bedlow had provided for her in the storeroom. He refused to put a lock on the door, so she was in constant fear that one of the men might find his way in there and try to use her.
Carrying her bucket of soapy water, she tapped on Vera’s door. The woman was off her shift, so Jane knew she would be in her room. The problem with trying to clean the girls’ rooms was that while they worked, they needed the rooms, and when they weren’t working, they were sleeping. There was never a good time. Most of them complained but knew she had no choice. But Vera’s complaining had escalated into abuse. She never missed an opportunity to berate Jane. She had tripped her, slapped her, and “accidentally” knocked into Jane’s stomach. She was the oldest by far of the women—perhaps thirty years old. Vulgar and experienced, she was still a favorite with the men. But for some reason, she delighted in testing Jane.
Jane tapped again. Today was wash day, and she needed to change Vera’s sheets. No matter how stubborn the woman was, Jane would have to be even more. She knocked hard. “Vera!”
The door jerked open. Vera stood looking out at Jane with eyes that appeared evil, as though there was something unnatural inhabiting her. “What do you want, Ignoramus? You know I’m trying to sleep.”
Of all the words the woman could have used, “ignoramus” was the least offensive. She’d certainly called Jane much worse—and did so on a regular basis. “Vera, you know Tuesday is the day I launder the bedding. I need to change your sheet and take the dirty one.”
A sneer came over her still-stained red lips. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Jane tensed but refused to engage in the woman’s twisted games. “So you keep telling me.”
Vera pushed the door open and stood while Jane walked by her. Jane held her breath, expecting to be tripped or pushed or worse. “I know you’re tired, but I’ll have this bed changed in a minute and be out of your way.”
“You make me sick.” Vera sat at her vanity, swinging her crossed leg while she watched Jane. “How can you bear to clean up after other people?”
Jane set the bucket of water on the floor and took a deep breath. She stripped the bed and unfolded the fresh sheet. “I suppose the alternative is less bearable.”
Vera’s eyes flashed anger, and she shifted. “So you’re saying you’d rather clean up other people’s filth than be like me?”
Jane refused to give in to the other woman’s baiting. She continued to tuck the new sheet around the edges of the feather mattress. But Vera’s leg was swinging harder, and Jane knew she was growing angrier. “Lord, protect me and the baby, please,” she whispered.
“What did you say?”
“Just a simple prayer, Vera. Nothing more.”
Vera’s volatile nature had unleashed on Jane more than once. The confrontational woman seemed to enjoy physical fights. Jane had never known a woman with such a mean streak. She avoided her when she could, but laundry day she had no choice but to endure the insults and pray Vera would prefer to let Jane finish up and leave quickly.
This time pain slammed into her head, and a heavy silver hairbrush crashed to the floor. Jane’s legs buckled. She sat hard on the bed, attempting to make sense of the pain and the sudden wetness on her forehead.
“Vera! You’ve split her head open.” Molly shot through the open door. “Why are you so cruel?”
Vera stood nonchalantly and crawled into her bed. “Get her out of here before she gets blood all over my clean bed.”
Blood? Jane reached up and touched the painful spot. Her hand came away sticky. Unwilling to give Vera the satisfaction of seeing her cry, she swallowed back tears. Perhaps that was pride, and she knew God looked unfavorably on the sin, but Vera was cruel, unjust, and unremorseful for her wickedness. At least Molly and some of the others were only prostituting themselves until they paid off debts to Bedlow. Or because he forced them into it.
Her head was beginning to spin.
“Come on,” Molly said gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” She led Jane into her bedroom. “Here, honey,” Molly said, “sit on my bed.”
“I don’t want to get blood on your clean sheets.”
She always changed Molly’s first. Her heart turned over for the girl. Bedlow should be horsewhipped for forcing girls to work for him. She longed for a real sheriff to report him to. But as Franklin had implied, the sheriff looked the other way and pretended all the women were there because they wanted to be. Ridiculous.
Closing her eyes against the pain, she felt herself starting to fade. “I need to lie down.”
“All right, but don’t go to sleep. This cut is deep. I’m going to call for Doc White. He’ll have to sew it up, I think.”
Jane shook her head. She wished she could open her eyes, but they were so very heavy. From what felt like a large distance, Jane heard the door fling open. “What is going on?” Bedlow’s voice echoed through the room.
Molly wet the towel again and dabbed at Jane’s forehead. “Vera threw a hairbrush at her.”
“Why’d she do that?”
“No good reason. She hates Jane.”
“I’ll put an end to this. You take care of her, or so help me, you’ll regret it.”
Jane felt herself losing consciousness pretty quickly and forced her eyes open. Even if Vera’s cruelty had brought about her own inevitable consequences at Bedlow’s hands, Jane didn’t want to be the cause of it. Barely able to move without throwing up, she reached out for Bedlow and caught his hand.
He turned around, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand to his heart. “What is it, honey?”
Honey? How could he be so presumptuous when he was forcing her to scrub floors and empty slop buckets and take abuse from prostitutes? She shoved aside her anger. “Vera—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make her pay for what she did to you.”
“Please.”
Bedlow kissed her fingers, and Jane’s mind went to another man who had kissed her knuckles. Franklin. She had dreams that he would come and rescue her. Futile, when she never awoke from the very real nightmare of Bedlow. “I promise she’ll never hurt you again.”
“Please don’t harm her. I don’t want to be the cause—”
“Shh. The doctor will be here soon to take care of you. You let me worry about Vera.” He set her hand down on her stomach, and she felt the bed shift as he stood up. “Keep her in bed and see that no one comes
in here except you and the doctor. And get that blood stopped before she bleeds out. I swear, I’m going to kill Vera.”
Kill her. “No.” Jane knew her voice was barely loud enough for anyone to hear, but she had to get through to him. “Trent?”
She heard his sharp intake of breath at the use of his first name. She had never given him the satisfaction, though he had tried to coax, coerce, and bully her into giving up use of his formal name in favor of the more intimate use of Trent.
“What is it, Jane?”
“Trent, please, I’m begging you not to beat Vera.”
“She needs to be punished for what she’s done to you.” He spoke as an adult to a child. “Doesn’t your Bible say something about an eye for an eye?”
“Vengeance belongs to the Lord. Don’t harm her. Please?”
“You just concentrate on getting well.”
She couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer. Inside, she screamed for him not to harm the other woman. But she couldn’t voice it anymore. Her head swam, even lying down, and she was nauseated, but that wasn’t an unusual occurrence these days. How could Bedlow be so vicious one day, and so kind and compassionate another?
She felt the cool cloth on her forehead again and Molly’s gentle touch. “Thank you, Molly.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “You know Vera only hates you because she’s jealous?”
“Whatever for?” Instinctively, Jane knew Molly was keeping her talking until the doctor got there. And it was probably just as well. She could have something seriously wrong with her head as a result of Vera’s heavy silver brush slamming right into the middle of her forehead.
“Don’t you know?” Molly wiped at the blood again.
“I have no idea.”
Molly chuckled, but the effort sounded insincere. “You’re too naïve for your own good. Bedlow used to treat Vera like a mistress. Even though she worked and entertained the men, she always felt like she was a special one, and for the most part, she was. She lorded it over the rest of us. Bedlow seemed pretty crazy about her. She was sort of his right-hand girl—until you showed up.”
“Me? I’m anything but a ‘right-hand girl.’ He forces me to work a filthy job—one, by the way, that she constantly mocks. Why would she possibly think this is Bedlow caring about me? She has nothing to be jealous of.”
“Vera is coarse and mean and vulgar. Men enjoy playing with a woman like that, but even men like Bedlow want a good woman to come home to at night. Vera wanted to be that woman. The mistress in Bedlow’s big house.”
“Maybe she still will be. The two of them are well-suited.”
Molly shook her head. “Never. Everyone knows he asked you, and you refused him.” She glanced toward the door, then leaned in close. “People don’t refuse Bedlow. He always gives an option, but if he doesn’t like the choice made, he forces the issue. If it’s a business deal, he shoots the person holding out of the deal. If it’s a woman, he won’t hesitate to force himself on her. That’s why everyone was so surprised when you ended up scrubbing and dumping buckets. We think he must love you because if he didn’t, he would have raped you and probably locked you up in that house.”
The vivid mental images Molly conjured caused Jane to shudder. She knew God had been protecting her, but she had no idea just how much. Bedlow disgusted and terrified her, but she had to be kind to him in order to keep Danny safe.
“I’ll never be his mistress. And as soon as I work off my debt, I’m going home. You can come with me, Molly.”
The door opened. Finally, the doctor had arrived with Bedlow. The bed dipped as Doc White sat next to Jane. “Open your eyes,” he softly commanded.
She obeyed. He was an older man, probably fifty, and his face and eyes looked hard. Jane instantly took a disliking to him.
“Well, looks like you got quite the injury.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How far gone is your pregnancy?”
“Seven and a half months.”
Glancing up at Bedlow, he heaved a sigh. “It’s too late to do anything about it now. It would kill her.”
Jane didn’t like the look that passed between the two men. “What do you mean by that?” She tried to sit up, but dizziness and the doctor’s firm hand pressed her back to the pillow. “Take your hands off me.” She turned her gaze to Bedlow. “What did he mean?”
“Nothing, honey. He just forgot that you aren’t like the rest of the girls.”
“I don’t understand. Why would that have anything to do with how far along I am in my pregnancy?” Her muddled brain refused to put pieces together.
“Drink this,” the doctor commanded.
“What is it?”
“Laudanum.” He put the cup to her lips.
“I don’t need it. What are you doing?”
“I’m going to have to sew up that gash in your forehead. You will likely have a scar.”
She didn’t care about a scar. Why should she?
She sipped, forcing the bitter medicine down and trying hard not to let it come back up her throat.
“Shall I tend Vera when I’m done here?” she heard the doctor ask through a hazy, faraway tunnel.
“I guess you better.” Bedlow’s voice sounded cold even in her drug-induced haze. “No sense losing money. Actually, wait a day. Come back tomorrow for Vera.”
Horror filled Jane, but there was no fighting the medicine she’d received. She muttered, “Vera,” even as she drifted into a cozy, fuzzy sleep.
Over the next two days, she drifted in and out of sleep, woke to the sound of a gentle voice and broth being forced down her throat. Her head ached constantly and when she tried to open her eyes, her stomach recoiled, sending her over the edge of the bed, retching.
“It be okay, honey. Mam’s here to take care of you now. You jus’ gwine back to sleep and let de good Lawd whisper love songs in your ears.”
Lazily, Jane smiled without opening her eyes. Peace filled her as the soft Negro tones soothed her and lulled her back to sleep.
On day three, she woke, lucid, but her head pounded, and her eyes didn’t quite focus. The room smelled of fresh bread and perfume.
Molly helped her sit up.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m still in your bed?”
“Yes. Mr. Bedlow gave me Vera’s room. I’ve been promoted to head hostess because Doc White said if I hadn’t staunched the blood flow, you might have bled out and died. Bedlow is in my debt.” She laughed.
“There was an old Negro woman. Was I dreaming?”
“I ain’t so old, honey.” Jane looked toward the corner where the voice had come from. The woman sitting in a wooden rocker gave a chuckle. “But I suppose I am, compared to you.”
Jane smiled. “So you weren’t just a dream. I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Mistah Trent tole me he needed me to come. So I did. We best take a look at them dressings.” She stood and stretched her back. “Whooee, I am surely not as young as I once was.”
“Why does it smell like bread?”
The old woman cackled. “I bakes and delivers bread to most of the general stores and one restaurant.”
Molly laughed. “Mam is the best baker in the world. Apples are beginning to come in season, or they will be soon. Just wait until she makes some apple tarts.”
The woman’s face beamed. Clearly she relished every word of praise.
“You said Mam. Do you mean Mammy?”
“I do.”
“I take it Trent used to be your master before the end of the war?”
She had been free for many years. So why was she still with such a monster? “I’m his mammy. He came home from the war and worked his fingers to the bone to take care of us. I ain’t leavin’ him now.”
“Us?”
“My boy.”
“Big George,” Molly offered.
Jane smiled. “Big George is your son? He’s a fine one.” And he was. The enormous man didn’t use his size as a weap
on, intimidating the girls. Rather, he did his best to keep them from being harmed by the men.
“Yes’m,” Mam said, her eyes shining. “That’s him all right.”
Molly refilled the basin with clean water and handed Mam fresh bandages. “Jane has taken quite a liking to Big George, and he has to her too. She makes sure he gets enough to eat, and he watches over her especially.” She smiled. “He doesn’t let the men anywhere near her.”
“He’s a fine son.” Mam went to work on the bandages. When she was finished, she left the room, carrying the wash basin and the soiled bandages.
“Mr. Bedlow has been going crazy since you got sick. He checks in here a dozen times a day.”
“I can’t imagine why. I’ve never given him a moment of encouragement. I have no intention of staying. Once my debt is paid, I will be leaving Deadwood for good.”
Molly reached forward and took her hand. “Did you really mean what you said about me coming home with you and Danny?”
A burst of hope filled Jane. “Of course. Will you?”
Molly’s face lit up and she nodded, then her expression turned cautious. “But let’s keep it between us until the right time.”
“I understand.”
“Are you hungry?”
Surprisingly, Jane’s stomach gurgled in response to the question. “I am ravenous, to be honest.”
“Good. Doc White says you can eat lightly for a few days. So I’ll run down and ask the kitchen to dish up some soup and bread.”
“Could I have some of Mam’s bread and some milk too? For the baby?”
Molly stood, jostling the bed and reminding Jane that her body ached. “I’ll be back in a little while. Is there anything else you’d like?”
“My Bible?”
Molly smiled. “I thought you might want that. I already brought it in case you woke up.” She walked to her bureau and removed the book from her top drawer. “Here you go.”
Jane clutched the treasure to her. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back.”
Molly left in a swish of bright satin skirts.
