Ophelia's War

by Alison L. McLennan

  She looked at the belt in Johnny’s hand with distaste. “Put that down for a minute.”

  “Ruby, do what I said and take off the dress.” They both watched me. I struggled with the eye hooks and laces until they became impatient. “Johnny, help her,” Pearl commanded.

  Johnny Dobbs rushed over to me and with his big clumsy hands began to pull and twist at the dress until it actually felt tighter. “Johnny, the dress didn’t do us any harm. Use a gentle hand and don’t tear it,” she said.

  He slowed down and panted from the effort to control himself. I felt his hot wet breath on the back of my neck as he fumbled. He finally loosened the petticoats and slid the dress to the floor. A cool draft from the open window stirred the fine hair on my body and hardened my nipples. Johnny stared. I crossed my arms over my breasts to cover them. His gaze went to my bottom half and I crossed my legs.

  “You can’t be coy in this business, love,” said Pearl. “Don’t you know anything about the art of seduction?”

  “No, miss,” I answered and looked at the floor again, genuinely ashamed of my nakedness.

  “That pathetic posture makes me want to beat you, and it will certainly do the same to a man. Isn’t that right, Johnny?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Johnny with relish.

  “Now, put your hands down. Stand tall and proud, look him in the eye. You are Aphrodite, and you have nothing to fear.”

  I looked at her, confused.

  “The Greek goddess of love,” she said.

  I put my hands to my side, straightened my spine, took a deep breath, and looked Johnny square in the eyes. Our gazes locked for a few seconds until his fell to my body and remained there as if nailed. I looked over at Pearl. She gave a slight nod, and I felt a small triumph.

  “Johnny, do you still feel the overwhelming desire to beat her?” she asked. He looked at Pearl, and then at me, and then back at Pearl, confused and hesitant with his words.

  “No, but I still think—”

  “You think, yes, I know what you think. But how do you feel?”

  He scratched the back of his head, looked at the floorboards, and then back up at Pearl. “Something different.”

  Pearl smiled at him. “It’s okay. I know she’s beautiful. Come here, love.” He walked to Pearl. They embraced and joined lips. I’d never seen a man and a woman display this type of affection toward one another, and I was embarrassed to witness it. I quietly gathered my things and inched toward the door. Pearl noticed and turned from Johnny. “I’m not done with you.” She turned back to Johnny. “I need a few minutes alone with her. Find someone to tend the bar and come back a little later.” He smiled and nodded at Pearl, but scowled at me as he was leaving.

  Pearl turned to me and crossed her arms. “You’re beautiful, but a man could poke his eye out on one of your ribs.” When she spoke, I could sometimes hear a lilt break through, a brogue, which she tried to hide. She glanced at my belongings on the bed, then went over to the window and shut it. But she continued to look out as she spoke to me. “I do have a soft spot for you. I’m not going to force you to stay here. If you think there’s something else you can do, some other way you can live, by all means go find it. I’ve got enough girls here, and more will arrive every day, now that the railroad is complete. They all want to work for me because I’m the best.” She looked around the room, at the ceiling, and the walls. “We’ll soon grow out of this building and buy or build another one.”

  She looked out to the street. “I see about a hundred men out there and maybe two or three women. Out at the farmhouses, each Mormon man has himself four, five, six, maybe even ten sister wives. I hear the rich can have up to twenty. They increase my business by keeping all the women to themselves. Most Gentile men in town won’t be able to find wives. Even some of those righteous Mormon men who have harems will still come here. They’ll come in the back door with their hats pulled down low and take the underground tunnels if they have to, but they’ll be here.”

  She sighed and pressed a hand to the pane. “Maybe you’ll find a good husband who doesn’t beat you. But you’ll never have your own money, or be able to own property like me. I didn’t choose this life, Ruby. I was put out when I was very young. I was too poor to know God or religion. All I knew was survival, trying to eat and keep warm. Where I grew up, you couldn’t even pull fish or pick oysters from the river because it was so full of excrement they’d make you sick. The smoke from the factories choked you, and it was all you could do to keep the soot off your face and try and look pretty for your next trick. I met Johnny. We hatched a confidence scheme, made some money, and got the hell out of there before the law caught up with us. This place is different. There are two rivers full of fish and clean sparkling water. You could fish or hunt. But I’m a city girl, and I never learned these skills.”

  Her gaze rose from the street to a towering snow-capped mountain north of town. “Just looking at that mountain raises me up. The air is so pure here I can fill my lungs without coughing. There is even a beautiful valley to the east called Eden. Despite the fact the Mormons hate me and would hang me if they had half the chance, this is my home now. Johnny and I are going to build something great here, and I invite you to be part of it. But I know it isn’t an easy life for a girl like you to choose. I never had a choice; I was born into it. I don’t sell myself anymore. I’m a madam and a business owner. You can learn a lot from me, Ruby, if you’re willing. But if you are going to hate yourself for it, or spend the rest of your life cowering under the weight of your sins and fearing God’s wrath, then I suggest you leave and never come back.”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Pearl called. Nellie opened the door, held my dress at an arm’s length out between two fingers, and scrunched her face in disgust. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

  Pearl took the dress and shooed Nellie away. She shut the door and tossed it to me. “Get dressed. Take your things and go. See what you find, mull things over, and search your soul for an answer—search down deep in your real soul, the personal one, not the one some preacher has made you think you should have. If you decide to come back, there will be a punishment, and Johnny will administer it. It will be horrible and you’ll want to die, but then you’ll be forgiven.”

  I couldn’t tell whether she wanted me to stay or go. Shouts from the street turned Pearl’s attention back to the window. I swallowed a hard knot of saliva and forced myself to breathe as I gathered my sack. I would not have thought it possible, but my dress was in even worse condition than it had been when I arrived. It must have been used as a rag because it smelled like stale ale and sawdust. I pulled the dress over my head. The sawdust made my skin itch. I longed to take the dress off and throw it away forever.

  I didn’t want to sully Pearl’s fine bed with my dirty dress, so I sat on the floor and squeezed my feet into my worn boots. I had to scrunch my toes together so the big toe would not protrude. From the neck down I was Ophelia again—a lost wretch, a fallen Saint, and an outlaw. Yet my hair still held some of the coiffure, and I could feel the rouge on my lips and cheek. From the neck up I was Ruby Doll House.

  I was torn between staying and going. I wanted to stay with Pearl, but I couldn’t submit myself willingly to Johnny’s wrath. The look in his eyes when he reached for his belt had been one of pure malice. Even Uncle Luther’s evilest glare had always been laced with mischief. Satan did not cut his helpers from the same cloth. Johnny Dobbs was different from any man I’d ever known and he frightened me.

  I needed fresh air. Pearl’s door would be open. She had said I could come back. I decided to go.

  “Thank you, Miss Pearl,” I said. My hand rested on the glass doorknob and I waited for her response. Her brows raised a little as if she was surprised by my decision. She sighed and gave a slight nod without looking at me. I went through the door and closed it carefully, wishing to make a quiet getaway. For some odd reason, I felt like a traitor. I had known Pearl for less than a
day, yet some incomprehensible seed of loyalty had been planted in my heart.

  Morning light stirred the painted ladies and their customers awake. They clamored for clothes and negotiated trade, still clumsy from the rowdy night. I nearly tripped over a tuba case carelessly left next to the steep narrow stairs. Sarah, the chasing-dragon girl from the tank, was on her way up with an empty chamber pot in each hand. She shot me a confused look and seemed about to ask me something before she decided it was too much bother and continued on her way.

  I passed the kitchen, which was bustling with activity. Bacon smoke carrying scents of fried egg streamed out the open back door. A man carrying a crate came barreling in straight toward me. I positioned myself sideways so he could pass.

  “Thanks, doll,” he said and winked. His smile revealed deep dimples nestled under high cheekbones set above a strong clean-shaven jaw. He was young like me.

  The heat rose in my cheeks and my body tingled. I smiled back and watched him. Not all men were bad. If you could find a man of integrity like Father or Zeke, with the looks of Samuel Cox, you’d be a lucky girl.

  Johnny Dobbs stood in the hallway with his hands on his hips, directing the dimpled crate-carrier where to set it down. I turned and hurried on my way, feeling a pang of loss over a home I never had and jealousy for people who had somewhere to go, someplace to be, and people, however depraved, who at least knew them and called them by name.

  A man emerged from the outhouse, and since there was no one else waiting, I seized the opportunity. I wasn’t in there but two minutes when I heard someone stomping like a mare in heat. I missed the days when I’d lived outside of a busy town and could see to my bodily functions in peace.

  As the morning sun mounted, steam rose from the muddy roads. I stuck to the boardwalk and avoided the deep muck caused by Saturday’s heavy rain. My leg ached from walking so much. The smell of fresh bread led me back to the bakery at the edge of town. Hunger pains began to jab at my empty stomach. If I didn’t get something to eat soon, my belly would turn into a hard knot, and I’d be unable to eat when I had the chance. That’s how I ended up being so skinny.

  The woman behind the bakery counter was plump with rosy, flour-smudged cheeks and tired eyes. She formed a weak, impatient grimace as I tried to decide what to purchase. I wanted to be careful with my savings. A finely dressed couple entered the store laughing, and the woman behind the counter turned her attention toward them. I stepped aside and pondered the baked goods and confections. She called the couple Mr. and Mrs. something or other and spoke deferentially to them. The lady clutched the man’s elbow and cast a quick pitiful look at me before she scrunched her nose and turned her head.

  The baker woman hollered to someone in the back of the store. “He’ll be right out with your order,” she told them and turned her attention back to me as if imploring me to be on my way before I offended the gentry.

  I had been enticed by the confections, but ordered half a dozen rolls instead because they would last longer and provide more nourishment. I reached into my sack to retrieve some coins from my purse. To my horror, the purse was empty, totally and completely empty.

  The baker woman saw my empty purse and lost her temper. “On your way! How dare you come in here painted up smelling like week-old fish and a casket of ale! You don’t even have a coin to your name! What business have you got! Out—now!” She hollered.

  The lady customer raised a gloved hand to her mouth, and her male companion shielded her as if the ugly scene might cause her bodily harm. I turned to go.

  “Roger, for heaven’s sake, pay for the poor girl’s bread!” she gasped.

  “Of course, darling.” He patted her hand to calm her.

  He looked at the baker woman and said in a loud condescending voice. “The Lord commands us to have mercy on the poor. Give the girl a dozen rolls. Just add it to our account.”

  “Sir, she’ll—”

  “That’s enough. Do as I requested without another word.”

  I hung my head in shame as the woman stuffed twelve rolls into a sack. She came around the counter and thrust it at me as she opened the door. “Don’t come back,” she grumbled under her breath.

  Fear and embarrassment had caused the hunger in my stomach to turn into a hard knot. I had planned to sit on a bench and bask in the morning sun while enjoying a fresh roll. The scene in the bakery and the realization that my money had been stolen took my appetite away. I walked around a surrey, which I figured belonged to the wealthy couple from the bakery. Planks had been laid across the road. I hopped to each one trying to cross the wide road without sinking into the mud.

  I did not want to believe that Pearl had stolen my money and sent me back out into the world without a penny to my name. That was the money I’d saved, slaved for in the laundry, scrimping and wearing rags for almost a year. Yet it probably wasn’t even as much as Samuel Cox had made away with from the poker game the night we’d absconded from Grafton. I didn’t want to put Pearl in the same category as Samuel Cox, a cheat, a coward, a fickle chicken who would leave you to die at the first sign of trouble.

  I tromped down the boardwalk and with each step, my fear and shame turned to anger toward the people who had wronged me. When I had lain dying in the desert, I tried to let go of my hatred toward Uncle Luther and Samuel Cox. I knew in order to die in peace, I had to let go of hate. But the anger returned and filled me with fierceness—a fierceness that my survival depended upon.

  The image of the lady in the bakery flooded my mind. The man had patted her hand and treated her as if she were some delicate species of plant that wouldn’t survive unless placed under a glass globe. Yet in her helplessness, she held power. It was different from Pearl’s power, but it was there all the same. She did not seem like a sister-wife fighting for her place in a polygamist marriage. The man had spoken of the Lord, but both he and she wore fine tailored clothes and didn’t look like any Mormons I’d ever known.

  I never had the luxury of being a lady. My first memories were of trudging across the frontier, following the wagons through the mud and eating Dolly’s cotton stuffing so my stomach wouldn’t feed on itself. Dolly! My heart leapt and a sudden urgency filled me. I had trained myself to forget about the cursed ruby necklace inside Dolly. It wasn’t just the curse that made me want to keep it. As long as I had the necklace, I still had a piece of Mother.

  Pearl, or whoever stole my money, had not realized that my real wealth was hidden inside a dirty old ragdoll. Desperation had taken me perilously close to a life of shame. Mother wouldn’t have wanted that for me. Damn the curse, I decided. If a worse fate could befall me for selling a family heirloom, I was prepared to face it.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I stopped in front of a dry goods store, retrieved a roll from the sack, and held it between my teeth while I put on my buckskin coat. With the roll still hanging from my teeth, I hoisted the sack over my shoulder. Horses neighed from a livery set back a little distance from the narrow makeshift boardwalk. The sound of their whinnies and snorts filled me with longing. After I sold the necklace, I’d buy a horse, a rifle, and a new dress. I’d go to the bathhouse, get cleaned up, and find a place to live. Maybe the necklace would fetch so much money that I could get a place of my own. I imagined chickens and a garden but no husband. With the prospect of money, the world seemed full of possibilities. I ate my roll and marched with confidence down the boardwalk, keeping my eye out for a jewelry merchant.

  The words, Buy, Sell, Trade were stenciled on the dusty glass window of a timber-frame building. It looked sturdier than most of the makeshift tents on the street. In front, a man sat in a bulging shaker chair, which looked like it was about to break under his weight. The man focused on his boots with what appeared intense admiration, the kind of doting look most people only bestowed on loved ones. The boots, full Wellingtons of fine black leather with shiny drover’s spurs, appeared brand-new. His legs were outstretched and the boots were crossed and propped on a railing. Unlike his
boots, his trousers were worn mounted-gray-wool and looked like they had once been part of a confederate uniform. They squeezed his short stout legs, which blocked my passage.

  “Good morning, sir,” I chirped. “Excuse me.”

  When he turned to me, the sight of his face nearly made me gasp. He had probably lost his right eye on a battlefield somewhere. It had no pupil, just a sky blue iris that seemed to bleed into the whites of his eye like runny yoke. On his left cheek was a raised angry scar. A lump of tobacco protruded from his lower lip. He spat a wad onto the boardwalk. His one good eye stared at me with penetrating hatred. I could tell he’d lost more than an eye in the war. He scowled.

  Because I was full of courage and on the brink of becoming rich, I repeated myself like a schoolmarm waiting for an answer. “I said, good morning.”

  This time I got a small nod before his gaze fell, and he assessed my ragged dress with a mixture of both puzzlement and disdain. Even men who looked like they had just crawled out of roadside ditches had the nerve to judge a girl by her attire. Besides his boots and a black bowler hat, he wasn’t dressed much better than me.

  I sighed and looked around. When the hammering, sawing, and bustle of the street noise subsided, bird songs filled the air. Spring bloomed all around, and I felt the sun’s warmth on my face. “Well, sir, I’m just happy to be alive on this fine morning. Excuse me. I have some business to attend to in this shop here.” He briefly touched the brim of his hat and removed his legs from blocking my passage, a small victory for me.

  I entered the shop. The very act of opening and closing the front door stirred up a storm of dust that rose and settled like a startled flock of finches. A disarray of items cluttered the walls and shelves. The discordant ticking of at least twenty-five assorted clocks created a tense, hurried atmosphere in the small cluttered place. I looked for the proprietor. He rose from behind a counter stacked with buffalo skins. “What can I do for you, miss?”