Ophelia's War

by Alison L. McLennan

  Compared to Great Salt Lake City, Ogden was not much of a place. Compared to Grafton, it was thriving. The railway track had been laid on the western edge of town. The station consisted of a few clapboard shacks and some canvas tents. A rickety looking grandstand stood uneasily, anticipating the upcoming ceremony. A quarter mile of narrow boardwalk extended over swampy land to connect railway travelers to merchants and businesses, which crowded together in a one-mile radius around the railroad tracks. I walked from the railway stop where the first transcontinental train would soon pass all the way to Fifth Street where the merchants and saloons were clustered.

  Buildings were in various stages of construction. Fancy shop fronts attached to tiny clapboard buildings gave the illusion of prominence. Most of the people in Ogden that day appeared to be Gentiles. They stumbled in the streets with whiskey bottles, laughing and jostling and sometimes brawling. The town was crowded, and I was often forced off the boardwalk into the muddy road.

  Ladies strolled along accompanied by gentlemen. You could tell the Mormon women because they wore sturdy homespun dresses and always had children clutching their hands and skirts. The wives of important railway and business men wore tailored dresses the likes of which I’d never seen. To the shock and disgust of both the Gentile ladies and the Mormons, scantily clad whores paraded around like they owned the town.

  I took refuge from the crowd on a bench beside the bakery and wondered why I had come to such a place. I had no idea where I was going to sleep and although the rain had stopped, the sky still threatened rain or worse—snow. I took off my bonnet and wiped my face with it. At that moment, Pearl Kelly and Johnny Dobbs came around the corner.

  Whore or not, Pearl Kelly was hands down the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Amid velvet ribbons, her blond hair came down in perfect shiny curls from under her black riding hat. Although her face was painted, she didn’t look like a clown. Cheek rouge accentuated her high cheekbones, and lip rouge brought out a healthy rosy hue on her sensuous mouth. Her eyes were deep blue, the color I imagined the ocean to be. In some strange way Pearl looked like a grown-up version of a beautiful doll.

  She rushed over to the bench where I sat. She was the first person in town to notice me. Before her attention, I’d felt invisible and alone. She knelt down in front of the bench. “Sister, sister, we’re reunited at last,” she cried and hugged my head to her bosom.

  Johnny Dobbs stood with his arms crossed. He wore a black bowler hat and a brocade vest. The tortoiseshell handles of expensive six-shooters poked out from holsters at his sides. A knife sheath was strapped around one of his pinstriped trouser legs, which was tucked into a fine leather boot. A cigar perched comfortably at the side of his mouth as if it were a second home. They’d both been drinking, but not as much as some of the other staggering Gentiles.

  “Now Pearl, you know she ain’t your sister, unless it’s her ghost.”

  Pearl Kelly pushed my head from her bosom, cupped my chin in her hand, turned my face from side to side, searched my eyes, and looked at my hair. “She looks just like my sister, Annie, God rest her soul, the orange hair, the blue eyes, and those little freckles on her nose. Oh, poor Annie, God have mercy.” Pearl wept.

  Johnny Dobbs pulled a hankie from his pocket and handed it to her. “Pearl, this here’s a celebration. Don’t ruin it by mourning the dead.” He shook his head. A man passing by stopped and gawked at us. “Women, they cry like dogs piss,” Johnny explained. The man nodded in commiseration and moved on. Johnny addressed Pearl with urgency and impatience. “There’s money to be made. Let’s get back and see to business.”

  She dabbed her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. “Girl, what’s your name? You look so much like my beloved sister, Annie.”

  I hesitated and sputtered. For the past year, I’d been Elizabeth Jones, but I didn’t want to be Elizabeth Jones anymore. I wanted to be someone like Pearl Kelly. Pretty and elegant, loved and protected by a frightening man like Johnny Dobbs.

  “My name is Ruby. Ruby Doll House,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry I brought you grief by reminding you of your poor sister.”

  Pearl stood, twirled her skirt, and clapped her hands. “Ruby Doll House! Now that’s a name! I don’t believe it’s your Christian name, but I like it! I’ll just call you Sister. Don’t you have any folks? How did you come to be such a wretch?”

  I choked and tears welled in my eyes. No one had been kind to me in so long.

  Pearl smiled and nodded in understanding. “Never mind about that. You come with us and I’ll get you a bath, some new clothes, and some nice warm food. Would you like that, Sister?”

  “Pearl!” Johnny Dobbs exploded, and I could see that he was like a walking stick of dynamite—explosive when lit. “No one’s going to want that lousy girl. She’s a flying mess, as poor as Job’s turkey.”

  Pearl diffused his temper. She sauntered over, gazed up into his eyes, slipped her arms around the back of him, and said, “We can kill the lice and fatten her up. We’ve done it before. Look at that red hair—lot of men pay extra for that. Betcha five dollars I can turn this ugly duck into a swan!”

  Johnny Dobbs melted as fast as a candlestick thrown into a forge. His eyes softened. He smiled admiringly at her. What power she had over him. He turned a doubtful, scrutinizing look at me.

  “I’ll work real hard, sir.”

  Johnny Dobbs and Pearl Kelly looked at each other. They smiled, and their eyes filled with amusement.

  “Come on then,” he said and strode away.

  Pearl grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bench. I grabbed my sack and walked next to her, doing my best to hide my limp. Johnny Dobbs strode ahead and rudely bumped people out of his way. Pearl didn’t have to bump anyone. When they saw her coming, they stepped out of the way and let us pass. It seemed she could part the Red Sea. She didn’t look at anyone, but everyone looked at her with varying sentiments: awe, desire, scorn, condemnation. Whatever they felt, they could not help but gaze upon her. Some men tipped or even removed their hats, and said, “Good day, Miss Pearl.”

  “Good day Charles, Thomas, Willard, Benjamin . . .” She didn’t even need to look at their faces to recall their names. She just knew them, and she somehow commanded their respect as sternly as a schoolmarm. But she was a whore. I knew it. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to see her that way.

  Excitement and the promise of prosperity hung in the air. It was rumored that Ogden would replace Corinne as the official Junction City. Anyone who took the train across the country would have to stop in Ogden whether they wanted to or not. The streets swelled with railroad transients finally ready to put down roots. While some men were busy hammering, sawing, and painting storefronts, others didn’t even bother with permanent structures. They raised canvas tents—the same ones they’d inhabited as they had followed the railway all the way out from the Missouri. Those men had set up gambling dens, tobacco shops, and distilleries, and had followed the progress of the railroad, vying for the workers’ pay all the way to the end of the line.

  The Saints were horrified. Before the railroad, the Mormon settlers only had to contend with mountain men, Indians, and trappers. To them, the influx of Gentiles meant the influx of sin. The great curse they had cast upon the nonbelievers had arrived at their doorstep.

  We arrived at Johnny’s saloon, a two-story brick building situated next to the bathhouse. We entered through the back door. Johnny’s saloon occupied most of the first floor, and Pearl’s girls were on the second. At the time it was just called Saloon. But over the years it would go under different names: The White Elephant, The Brass Monkey, Buffalo Jill’s.

  Pearl opened the first door on the left and with great pride revealed an indoor bathtub. “No plumbing yet, but someday.” She pointed under the tub. A hole in the floor lined up with the drain. “Water drains right outside. No need to carry it outside when you’re done.”

  She told a plump, dark-haired girl to draw me a bath—a warm
bath. Johnny Dobbs scowled. “You’re gonna waste warm water on her! I’ll never understand you, Pearl. You treat a street urchin like royalty.” He stormed off toward the saloon.

  “Five dollars!” Pearl called after him. “You’re going to owe me five dollars! You’ll see.”

  The plump, dark-haired girl who had been ordered to draw my bath grumbled. With a tin bucket in hand, she went in and out the back door, drew water from the pump, heated it on the pot-bellied stove, and poured it into the tub. “Looks like Queen Elizabeth has come back from the dead to grace us with her presence. I’ve never in my life had a clean warm bath.” She wiped sweat off her brow.

  Pearl Kelly crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the girl. “If you stop your whining, Nellie, you can go second. Otherwise you’ll be at the end of the line. Go tell all the girls to be ready for a bath. Tonight’s going to be busy. Lot of rich bigwigs in town, and some of them are sure to drop in. I don’t want any dirty Sallies giving my place a bad reputation.”

  Nellie didn’t look at Pearl, but she looked at me and her nose twitched. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

  Pearl put her hands on her hips. “Wash her hair real good. Use some lye and whiskey. Try and get all the nits out, then send her up to my room.” She hitched her skirt and climbed the stairs.

  I took off my clothes and explained to Nellie. “Only my clothes are dirty. I bathed in the creek this morning. I won’t sully the water.”

  She nodded, pinched my clothes between her thumb and forefinger so she wouldn’t have to touch them, and threw them onto the windowsill.

  “I’ve never had a clean warm bath in my life either,” I said. “This is my first one.”

  “Congratulations! Looks like it’s your lucky day,” she answered with mock enthusiasm.

  I put a foot in the steaming tub and immediately took it out. “Hot!”

  “Go on. We don’t have all day,” she hollered.

  I balanced my weight on the sides of the tub with my hands and eased myself into the water. Even though I was afraid of where I was and what would become of me, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the warmth. Luckily, Nellie’s hands didn’t match her sour attitude and she didn’t scrub me too hard, or pull my hair. She had no shame in bathing a complete stranger. Her hands betrayed tenderness despite her hard exterior.

  She took my dirty clothes away. They’d probably be washed and torn for menstrual rags because they weren’t even fit for a whore. After my bath, wrapped only in a towel, filled with fear and trepidation, I climbed the stairs to Pearl’s room, past girls sitting on the stairs waiting for their baths. A few jeered and tugged at my towel, but I yanked it back and ran out of their clutches.

  Just as I reached the top of the stairs, Pearl burst out of her bedroom door. The girls quieted and looked up at her. She put her hands on her hips. “This is Ruby.” She put her arm around me. “Anyone who is uncivil to her will spend a night in the tank. Remember those first days and nights in Corinne, when we had nothing but a canvas tent and a dirt floor. Now, look around. See where I have taken you. We have rules. You follow the rules, or you’ll be spreading your legs out in the cold dirty alley.” She let a moment of silence pass so her message would sink in.

  Right next to Pearl’s private bedroom, a man looking freshly bathed and awkward clutched a small bouquet of flowers and sat on a divan. Pearl smiled at him. “Won’t be long, George.” Pearl put a hand on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “She’s making herself pretty just for you.” George smiled and squirmed a little. Pearl ushered me into her room and shut the door.

  “Touches my heart when they clean themselves up and bring flowers,” she said and smiled.

  Over by the window, a writing desk sat strewn with papers, books, and an open ink bottle. A drop of ink hung from a steel-tipped pen. She walked to her desk and screwed the lid onto the ink bottle. A thick maroon and purple quilt covered her bed, which had a beautiful cherry headboard ornately carved with nymphs, sirens, and mermaids. I found out later that it had been made for her by a Prussian count. On top of the quilt, a dress and corset waited to bind my naked body.

  I had never owned or worn a corset. All of my mother’s dresses and undergarments were burned after she died—caution against the spread of disease. Pearl dressed me and gussied me up until I felt like someone else. My skin was raw from the bath and the corset squeezed me so tight, I could hardly breathe. When she powdered and painted my face, she looked at me as if she were seeing the dead. “Sister, sister, sister . . .” she whispered, “how I’ve missed you.” She brushed, wound, and pinned my hair on top of my head. The height and weight of it pulled my neck and I realized why ladies with elaborate hairstyles held their heads so tense and high.

  Pearl stepped back, assessed me, and smiled. “Now I don’t know how long your hair will stay that way, but I’m going to get my five bucks!” She led me to the mirror.

  I stood before it, transfixed, barely able to recognize myself. My breath caught, both because of the tight corset and my disbelief in what I saw. Just hours ago, I’d felt old beyond my seventeen years, wretched, scrawny, dirty, and sickly. Freshly bathed and dressed in all this finery, I looked, well—beautiful.

  Pearl sat me on the bed and held out some stockings. She showed me how to put them on and pin them to the garter belt. “Now, when the time comes, take these off yourself—very carefully. Do not let a man take them off. His rough hands will tear them, and I can’t afford to keep replacing them. You’ll get another dress, a plain one, for daytime and chores. Come winter, you’ll get one pair of wool stockings. If you need anything else, you’ll have to pay from your earnings.” She clapped her hands under her chin and sized me up again. “Ready?”

  Besides Pearl’s private room and the sitting area in front of it, upstairs consisted of one big long room that had been partitioned off into smaller rooms with heavy curtains. Those small makeshift rooms were only big enough for a bed, a washstand, and a chamber pot.

  She led me down the stairs past the very last girl waiting for the bath. What was the point in bathing, when eight soiled doves had already cleansed their fannies in the water before you? When we walked into the saloon, I felt eyes, not just upon Pearl, but upon me—upon me, when just an hour before I’d been an ugly duckling not worth a second glance. A general din was building in the saloon, but even some rowdy men quieted and turned to look at us.

  Johnny Dobbs stared in disbelief. He shook his head and placed a fin in Pearl Kelly’s outstretched and waiting hand. Pearl picked up a fork and banged it against a glass until the din quieted. “I’d like to introduce our newest girl, Ruby Doll House.” Catcalls, whistles, and cheers went up. Glasses were raised and libations downed to celebrate.

  Johnny leaned against the bar and looked at Pearl. “Well, I got to hand it to you, Pearl; you found a ruby in the rough. I certainly never would have picked this one.” He shook his head and wiped the bar with a rag he kept slung over his shoulder.

  Pearl smiled. “It’s a smart man who knows to give credit where credit is due. Thank you, Johnny.” She turned toward me, tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, and adjusted my dress. “Now, listen,” she said to Johnny. “I’m going to get her some supper. She’ll barmaid tonight. No whoring, unless I can find the right prospect. I need to get her trained and educated.”

  Johnny stopped wiping the bar and aimed an explosive look at Pearl. I felt like running out of the room, but Pearl stood her ground. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Look how busy this place is already. We’re going to need all the girls we have on their backs upstairs. I’ve got plenty of men to help me down here.”

  Pearl put her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and spoke as if she was trying to teach him something. “Johnny Dobbs, remember that you said the brothel is mine, to run how I see fit? I don’t want to turn her out just yet. She needs training.”

  He put his hands on the bar, leaned over toward her, and yelled into her face. “What training? You open your legs, lie back, t
hink of England, and let the man do his business!”

  Pearl shook her head and looked exasperated. “I didn’t build what I’ve built, the kind of reputation I have, on that kind of simple thinking.”

  “It’s fucking, Pearl! Can’t get much simpler than that!” A loud crashing sound caught his attention. He hopped over the bar and crossed the room to break up a brawl.

  Pearl ushered me out of the saloon and into the adjoining kitchen where five or six men and one woman crowded at a big pine table and spooned stew into their mouths. A large pox-scarred old woman stirred a giant pot. Pearl nodded to her. Malice shone in the woman’s one good eye. Her other eye was dazed, unfocused, and drained of color. She ladled stew into a bowl, and handed it over to me.

  When we were out of earshot, Pearl said, “That’s Old Nell, half blind and dumb as a bat. Don’t let her scare you. She sleeps out in the shed.”

  NINETEEN

  In San Francisco, New York, Washington, London, and Paris, telegraph operators waited for the word “DONE” to come across the wire indicating that the golden spike had been driven. In Ogden, a steady rain fell, and Johnny Dobbs’s saloon swelled with a wet, rowdy crowd. On the precipice of a great moment, celebrations waited to begin. But the word “DONE” never came across the telegraph wires. Instead the word “DELAYED” appeared. Politicians who had planned grand festivities in their districts didn’t know what to say to the masses already gathered and waiting. In San Francisco the celebrations proceeded as if the spike had been driven. But in Ogden, the rickety grandstand shook in the wind and was battened with rain as disappointed spectators headed home or crowded into saloons.

  I carried drinks to men at Johnny Dobbs’s place and stuffed coins into a leather purse tied around my waist. Stories and rumors about the delay filled the crowded saloon until one emerged triumphant. A man stood on the bar. He clanged a knife against a tin mug. The room started to quiet. From behind the bar, Johnny Dobbs cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Give this man your attention for one minute! He’s got important news.”