Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West)

by Shirley Kennedy

  The madam’s annoyed expression softened. “Notice she’s been well cared for. They’re all well cared for. Mr. Palmer wants it that way.”

  Sarah cradled the baby tight in her arms. “I can’t see why he’s going to all this trouble just to turn them into servants.”

  The madam frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From his wife, Isobel.”

  “Isobel!” A burst of harsh, derisive laughter broke from Mrs. Dawson’s mouth. “That old whore? Since she married Palmer, butter won’t melt in her mouth.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Mr. Palmer plucked her right out of his brothel in Downieville. Now she puts on airs like she’s better than the rest of us. Well, she can try all she wants, but she’ll always be a whore.”

  Isobel Palmer a prostitute! If Sarah hadn’t been so caught up in the joy of finding Addy, she would have had a good laugh at the uppity woman who’d treated her to shabbily.

  Ms. Dawson wasn’t finished. She gave Sarah what amounted to a look of scorn. “Servants, indeed. How naïve you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  In an angry gesture, the slovenly woman drew her wrapper closer around her. “I may be the madam of a whorehouse, but I don’t hold with depravity.”

  Again, Sarah was baffled. “Depravity?”

  “Not in this house, but lord knows where he plans to take these children, or what he plans to do. Just take the baby and go. Wait a minute.” She signaled to the Indian woman. “White Flower will get her clothes and diapers together.”

  Sarah waited, not saying another word. She’d get nothing more from the madam, so she didn’t ask again about depravity. When Addy’s pitifully small bundle of clothes was ready, she clasped her tight and headed for the entrance, catching one last glimpse of the little girl with dark eyes staring at her from her crib. The little boy with the golden curls reached his arms out. Why were these children here? Why did she have a sick feeling that they weren’t safe and that the reason they weren’t safe was so unspeakably ugly that a woman like herself, brought up sheltered from a harsh, cruel world, couldn’t possibly understand?

  At the curb, she handed the baby up to Ruben and climbed into the carriage. To her surprise, Palmer’s gruff henchman broke into a wide grin. “A baby! I ain’t seen one of these since I left Tennessee.” He cooed at little Addy, chucked her under her chin before, with reluctance, he handed her back. “She’s lucky to get out of that place,” he said as he picked up the reins.

  Again, Sarah got a bad feeling. She set it aside. Nothing was going to mar this joyful day.

  Chapter 21

  When they got back to Hangtown, Ruben let Sarah off at the El Dorado Hotel. Jack was outside waiting. His eyes lit when he saw she held a baby in her arms. “By God, you did it! So we won’t be blowing the Golden Hill dam after all. What a woman you are.”

  She had no time for compliments. “Is my father—?”

  “He and Becky are in the dining room. I’ve got to send a message to Ling—you know what that’s about. Go on in and see your father.”

  Sarah couldn’t remember a prouder moment in her life than when she walked to the table where Pa and Becky were dining, Florrie’s baby in her arms. “Here she is, Pa. I got her back.”

  Pa rose from the table and eagerly stretched out his arms. “My granddaughter! Let me hold her.”

  As if the baby knew she was in safe hands, she smiled and thrust a tiny fist toward her grandfather. For a long moment, he held the baby tight and couldn’t speak. His eyes got damp. What a teary afternoon this was! Finally he looked at Sarah. “Just wait till your mother sees this beautiful child.”

  Thinking of her mother, Sarah wanted to cry all over again but managed to choke back her tears. She sat at the table and told them how she got the baby back—not the whole story, especially the part where they blew up the dam—but enough that they knew it hadn’t been easy. Pa nodded his enthusiastic approval. “I can’t thank you enough, Sarah. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you.”

  A knot of emotion still lodged in her throat, but she got past it and spoke again. “Thanks, Pa, but I’m not done yet.”

  “Ah yes, there’s Florrie, isn’t there?”

  “I’ve got to see her.”

  “I’ll go with you. I’d wager when she sees this baby, she’ll come to her senses and leave that evil place.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right, Pa. It would be better if I spoke to her alone, though, and I’m not taking the baby to such a place.” Sarah looked over at Becky who was getting all fidgety. Obviously she was dying to hold the baby. “Becky, will you—?”

  “Of course I will.” Becky’s arms shot out. She took little Addy and cradled her close. “I trust you brought some diapers. She’s bound to need a change by now.”

  Becky’s caring attitude toward the baby reminded Sarah how much Becky and Hiram had yearned for a child of their own. What a shame. Becky would be a different woman if she had children. And that reminded her of something. “I thought you were leaving. You said—”

  “I’ve decided to stay.”

  “Really?” Her patience with Becky had just come to an abrupt end. “Why would you want to stay with such a sinner as my brother?”

  A flush crept over Becky’s cheeks. “I was wrong. When Hiram told me he wasn’t leaving Hangtown, and I should just go home, I realized how much I loved him and—” Her voice broke. In a tremulous whisper she continued, “I didn’t want to lose him.”

  Sarah welcomed the opportunity to at long last speak her mind. “I’m glad to hear you’re staying, but only if you respect my brother for the wonderful man he is and stop your constant nagging and belittling.”

  Becky nodded eagerly. “Never again. I know I’ve been horrid. That’s going to change.”

  “I’m happy to hear it. I hope you mean it.”

  Pa gave his daughter-in-law a pleased smile before he turned to Sarah. “I’m concerned. Is it wise to go alone to see Florrie?”

  No, it wasn’t wise. Sneaking into a brothel owned by Hannibal Palmer would be dangerous, indeed, and perhaps the most stupid thing she’d ever done. “Nothing to it, Pa. Just keep your fingers crossed that our Florrie will want to come home.”

  Jack met her outside. “Everything’s fine. I’ve sent word to Ling. Palmer can relax, but not too much. We’ll clear most of the explosives away, but not all.” He grinned. “Just in case he decides to change his mind.”

  She told him she was on her way to see her sister.

  “I’ll come along.”

  “So far today, my luck is holding, so thanks, but I’m going in alone.”

  At four o’clock in the afternoon, not much was stirring at the house with the red door on Pacific Street. Jack accompanied her to the back where they’d met with Anming. The rear door was open. Sarah said a quick, “Wait here” and slipped inside. Nobody around. With stealthy steps, she crept down a hallway, past the kitchen, and up the back stairs. She knocked on Florrie’s door.

  “Sarah!” Florrie couldn’t hide her surprise when she opened the door. She looked none too pleased. “I thought we—”

  Sarah stepped inside. “Sit down, I want to talk to you.”

  “What is it now?”

  After they were seated, Sarah continued, “This will come as a shock, but there’s no other way than to tell you straight out.” She took a deep breath. “Florrie, they lied. Your baby didn’t die.”

  Florrie gasped and grabbed the pearls at her throat. “Addy’s alive?”

  “Very much so.”

  Sarah proceeded to tell her how Palmer’s people had lied on the night Addy was born. Without going into the harrowing details, she simply said she’d persuaded Hannibal Palmer to give her back. “Isn’t it wonderful, Florrie? She’s a darling baby, perfect in every way. You should have seen the look on Pa’s face when I put her in his arms.”

  “Wonderful, indeed.” Florrie l
ooked truly grateful.

  “Pa wants you home. We’ll make up some excuse so Ma never need find out about…well, you know, everything.” With a wave of her hand, Sarah indicated the lavishly furnished room. “Haven’t you had enough of this? Now that you know your baby’s alive, I know you’ll want to come home.”

  Florrie got a pout on her face. “No.”

  Her answer practically blew Sarah back in her chair. “Did I hear you right?”

  “You did.” Florrie reach out with pleading hands. “How can I make you understand? As I said before, I love it here. For the first time in my life, men want me. I see the admiration in their eyes. Tonight we’re having another wonderful party. I’ll have my choice of men. They’ll all be after me, and I can take my pick. They shower me with presents. See this?” She held up a wrist circled by a bracelet of sparkling diamonds. “Sorry, Sarah, but I can’t give up this life. Let Becky raise the baby. She’d love to do it. You know how she’s always wanted a child. As for me…” She nearly choked up but carried on. “Can’t you understand how much this all means to me?”

  “No, I don’t understand. I’ll never understand.”

  Florrie threw up her hands. “Then there’s nothing more to say, now is there?”

  Florrie was right, nothing more to be said. Sarah got to her feet, out of words, out of patience, out of hope. She headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Florrie called.

  “Why? You’re dead to me now. I don’t have a sister anymore.”

  With a bitter heart, Sarah left Florrie’s room and walked down the main staircase. No one around. Not that she cared. The mood she was in, she wouldn’t mind tangling with the awful Mrs. Northcutt or anybody else who got in her way.

  She didn’t slow down when she saw Jack waiting outside. He caught up with her and fell in step. “What happened?”

  “She won’t come. She’s happy her baby didn’t die, but she doesn’t want to give up her so-called wonderful life. I can’t believe it!” She made no effort to stifle the hysterical edge in her voice. She must calm down, but how could she get past her rage at her idiotic sister and her crushing disappointment?

  Jack stopped in the street and cupped her elbow. “Stop. Calm down.” He turned her toward him and clasped both her arms. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  They stood on Main Street, people passing by, but she hardly noticed. She related her ill-fated meeting with Florrie in choppy little sentences with shaky gasps of breath in between. “She just won’t come,” she ended. “I feel sick. What am I going to tell Pa?”

  Jack closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, he nodded, as if he’d come to a decision. “Come on, we’re going back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Back to see Florrie.”

  “But I just told you—”

  “I know what you told me. Florrie talked to you, but she hasn’t talked to me. Let’s go. I have a lot to say to that foolish sister of yours. She won’t like to hear it, but, by God, she’s going to listen.”

  When they returned to the house with the red door, they didn’t go around to the back. “We’ll go in the front,” Jack said. “You have every right to see your sister. God help anyone who gets in our way.”

  Jack’s clenched jaw and the sheen of determination in his eyes told Sarah not to argue. “Of course, that’s fine.” What on earth was he going to say to Florrie? The question hammered at her, but she said nothing more.

  Jack didn’t bother to knock. They walked in and were halfway up the staircase when Mrs. Northcutt appeared in the entryway and called up to them. “You can’t—”

  He hardly bothered to turn his head. “We can and we will.”

  The gritty resolve in Jack’s voice made the desired impression. Mrs. Northcutt shrugged, spun on her heel, and left. They continued up the stairs. Sarah knocked on Florrie’s door again. This time, when her sister opened it, she was dressed for the evening in a red satin, low-cut gown, a jeweled comb in her hair. “You’re back?” Florrie frowned. “What more is there to say?”

  Sarah introduced Jack. “He’s my friend and wants to talk to you. I met him right after you disappeared. He saved Ma when she had an asthma attack. He’s helped us a lot.”

  Florrie nodded reluctantly and swung the door wide. When they were seated at the table, Florrie asked, “Well? Really, I don’t have much time.”

  Jack gave her a long, hard stare. “You will take the time to listen to me. I’m about to tell you things I’ve never told anyone before. Why do I bother?” He threw a glance at Sarah. “This woman means a lot to me. So does her family—your family, Florrie. They’re kind, loving people, and they want you home. You have no idea how lucky you are to have such a family. Let me tell you about mine.” His brows drew downward in a frown, as if he hated dredging up long buried memories. “My mother was a prostitute. I never knew who my father was. I doubt she did either. My first memories are of a room like this.” He waved his hand. “Fine carpeting, velvet drapes, everything plush. She was beautiful then. She wore stylish clothes and laughed a lot. I remember I had a little room off hers. She’d lock me in nearly every night while she ‘entertained’ her clients. I couldn’t call her ‘Mother.’ That would have spoiled her youthful image. She made me call her Stella. At the time, I didn’t understand. I was only five or six, so I didn’t know I was living in a brothel. But the good times didn’t last. I was maybe six or seven when I saw my mother throw herself on the bed and sob like I’d never heard her before. She’d been tossed out of her fancy brothel. I didn’t know why, but I do now. She’d started to lose her looks. By then, she was past thirty, getting those little wrinkles around her eyes. She was drinking heavily—a bottle of whiskey every day, and it showed, especially along with the opium she was smoking.”

  Florrie was listening with rapt attention. She drew herself up and exclaimed, “I would never do such a thing.”

  “Yes, you would. As time goes by, you’ll do anything to ease the pain of the life you’re leading. We moved to another brothel, far worse than the first. Stella’s clients weren’t well dressed, upper-class gentlemen anymore. They were uncouth working class louts with dirt under their fingernails. Not only had her looks coarsened, so had her soul. I couldn’t please her, nobody could. While she worked, I had to wait in the hallway. It was either that or play outside in the dirty gutters where the street gangs might get me.” A melancholy smile crossed his face. “I was a skinny kid, small for my age, so I didn’t spend a whole lot of time outside. The trouble was, inside wasn’t much better. Life in a brothel isn’t pretty. There’s nothing, no degradation, no cruelty I haven’t seen. I never got a kind word from my mother. She would just as soon haul off and belt me one as look at me. By the time I was twelve, between the whiskey, opium, and the sordid life she led, my mother was pretty far gone, her cheeks all sunken in like she was dead already. They were going to throw her out, but she saved them the trouble and committed suicide. She took strychnine, the prostitutes’ poison of choice.”

  Florrie gasped. “How awful.”

  “You go into convulsions. It’s not a good way to die. If it hadn’t been for—” Jack stopped, as if he’d gotten a catch in his throat.

  “Jenny?” Sarah asked softly. “You’ve mentioned her before, the one with the soft blue eyes and long, blond hair who taught you how to read and write.”

  “Jenny.” Jack looked toward the ceiling, as if giving himself an extra moment before he must carry on. “Her room was down the hall. She used to read to me, give me lessons. I was a lost, lonely kid, and she gave me the only love I ever knew. After Stella died, they were going to throw me out, but Jenny said she’d watch over me and see I earned my keep. So I stayed. The hardest part—” His jaw clenched. Sarah could tell each word was a struggle. “The hardest part was seeing how she suffered. She was sick. I never knew what was wrong exactly, but she was slowly wasting away. She had asthma attacks, too, really bad
. She coughed a lot, sometimes couldn’t stop. That’s how I learned how to help her. But worse than the sickness was her despair. She was still in her twenties, but she was doomed. There was no way out of the horrible life she was living. You’re new to this life, Florrie. All you see is the fun, the good times. Believe me, they won’t last. Right now you can’t imagine what it’s like for a prostitute in one of those hellholes, but I guarantee you’ll find out. They’re forced to perform every sort of debased perversion imaginable and some you can’t imagine. They suffer beatings at the hands of brutal, drunk men, and there’s no one to defend them. That’s what happened to Jenny. Like my mother, she told me never to enter her room when she was entertaining, no matter what I heard. One night I was out in the hall. A nasty, brute of a man was in there with her. He started beating on her—I can still hear the sickening thuds of his fists on her body. She didn’t scream, but I could hear her pleading for him to stop.”

  “How terrible,” Sarah cried. She’d listened to Jack’s heart-wrenching story with growing distress. “I can see how painful this is. You don’t have to—”

  “I’ll finish what I started.” Jack breathed a shuddering sigh. A tear slid down his cheek. He made no effort to wipe it away. “I stood in the hallway, too scared to help. I should have gone in there, but like a coward, I waited in the hallway till he was gone. By the time I went in, Jenny was a bloody mess. You couldn’t even recognize her face. She was coughing blood. She knew she was dying. With practically her last breath, she gave me the money she’d saved—three hundred dollars, all she had to show for a lifetime of misery. ‘Leave New York,’ she said. ‘Go west, as far away from here as you possibly can.’ Those were the last words she spoke before she died. No funeral. They dumped her body in the river.”