The Spoils of Sin

by Rebecca Tope

  Fanny’s gratitude expanded with every word of this modest account. ‘I have no words for how thankful I am to you,’ she breathed. Privately, her respect for Charity increased, at her insightful choice of husband. The man was evidently a greater treasure than anyone had appreciated.

  While Carola made coffee, Fanny conducted her usual routine of tidying and cleaning the house. There were necessary tasks to perform: food to purchase, the veranda to sweep clear of the everlasting dust that seemed to accumulate magically overnight. The hot weather was breaking up, and rain was predicted by those who took note of signs and portents. A wind had got up from the west, which could only bring ocean damp their way. ‘I need new boots,’ she muttered to herself. She had hoped to get a pair made by a recently-arrived man who had set up his own store across the street from their boudoir. Week by week, Chemeketa was more closely resembling the cities back East, with specialists of many kinds finding their way there, and settling down to create a source of fancy cakes, quality notepaper, iron gates, furniture, china, lace and a hundred other items not thus far available in the pioneering west. The newfound gold had a patchy effect on this rise in the provision of merchandise. Successful prospectors were not yet thronging the town streets, but there were a handful who had been astute enough to profit from the free spending there had been in California in the last few months of 1948. They had left the crowded frenzy that followed and dispersed to other areas with their fortunes made.

  Like Marybelle, Fanny realised. The woman had capitalised handsomely on her good fortune to be in the right place at the right moment. From her own account, she had worked strenuously for perhaps three or four months, and come away with untold wealth.

  These and allied thoughts served to slowly return her to a better balance. The death of her brother was a terrible calamity for those who had lived with him, but for Fanny herself, it made no practical difference. It was a sadness, a hole in the fabric of her essential self; where she had once possessed a brother, now she did not. But her house and work and place in Chemeketa society remained the same.

  It was quite probably not like this for Carola. Whatever she might insist, her child had lost its father, even before it was born. And in Carola’s case, this could make a material difference to the future. Any girl, however rational and self-reliant, must surely dream now and then of a reunion with the father of her child, creating the little family that God and nature alike seemed to prefer over any other arrangement.

  The veranda temporarily pristine, she went back into the house and drank a large mug of coffee. ‘Rain coming,’ she said. ‘There are clouds over the western hills.’

  Carola grunted, as if this were far beyond her concerns. ‘That man – your sister’s husband – he is a real gentleman. I hope he does not think badly of us. Of me,’ she added with a grimace. ‘He never let his gaze linger on my belly, but he could not fail to observe it. Will he take a report back to your family that includes mention of a forthcoming infant, think you?’

  Fanny considered for a moment. ‘I imagine he will confide in Charity, and she will decide to hold her tongue on the matter. However fiercely she reproached and condemned me for my behaviour, she did very little to blacken me to our parents. She rightly judges that it is none of her business. She has never been able to comprehend my ways. Although – ’ she smiled ruefully, ‘now she has two little ones of her own, mayhap she has learned something of the pleasures I discovered at such a young age.’

  ‘Are you thinking she has ended up with the better life?’

  Fanny shook her head. ‘Our fates were sealed at birth. The head-reading man would say so, anyhow. Charity must have a bump of caution, or obedience, or something of the kind. There is very little adventure in her spirit – and not a lot of charity,’ she added. ‘I said as much to her once, which was unkind of me, I confess.’

  Carola showed no sign of censure. ‘I believe such exchanges are normal between sisters,’ she observed.

  Reuben was not referred to again that day. When two men entered the boudoir together, there was a moment of awkwardness. Both stared openly at Carola’s belly, with very little sign that they found it seductive. It was a moment both girls had anticipated over recent weeks as her figure swelled. The men, they suspected, would be increasingly repelled by the prospect of coupling with a woman so obviously with child. It was very far from the simple intercourse they expected from the girls; the complications giving rise to disturbance in their feelings that would not be welcome. In addition, there would be anxiety about doing harm.

  ‘I am not fit for business,’ Carola concluded aloud. ‘That is the truth of it.’

  The men and Fanny all heard her. Nobody disagreed. It was readily arranged that one man would remain in the living room with Carola, enjoying a drink and perhaps a tune on the piano, awaiting Fanny’s attentions, once she had given due service to the other.

  ‘No need to hurry,’ said the second one. ‘I have waited half a year – what matter another hour?’

  ‘Half a year!’ echoed Carola. ‘I am eager to know what has kept you away from female company such a time.’ She laughed, relief unmistakable in her voice. ‘Let me guess – you have been panning for gold, in the California hills.’

  Fanny led her man upstairs before an answer was forthcoming. There was nothing memorable in what followed. He could have been any one of fifty such men: determined, a little shame-faced, grateful and glad. He had no cause for complaint and paid his money willingly.

  The second man appeared to feel he was due extra attention, since he had been made to wait. He bared himself quickly, and thrust his organ in Fanny’s face. ‘Suck it,’ he said, as if offering her a treat.

  It was not the first time this request had been made, but it was very far from common. And Fanny disliked the idea with some vehemence. ‘Why?’ she asked irritably. ‘What is there about a mouth that you enjoy?’

  His face changed. ‘I am not eager to enter a place that has so recently accommodated another man,’ he said.

  It was too much. What did the goddamned man expect? If he wanted exclusive rights, he should find himself a wife.

  ‘Sir, this is the nature of the business,’ she pointed out stiffly. ‘The service I provide is of a very straightforward description. Variations are not permitted.’

  ‘I will pay double.’ He put a hand behind her head and pressed her face into his lower regions. ‘Open your mouth.’

  She could scream for Hugo. She could bite him. She could turn away, fold her arms and tell him there was nothing more to be done, if he was loath to perform naturally. All these alternatives flew through her mind. But then something – resistance, revulsion – fell away, and she did as he ordered. What did it matter? It would not hurt or damage her. She could wash away the taste with whiskey afterwards.

  His thrusts were initially gentle, as she closed her lips around his flesh. She supposed she might increase his pleasure with her tongue, if she chose. She could kiss and suck and excite him in ways that were still not quite clear to her. But she remained as passive as she could, holding her lips loose and keeping her tongue well clear. It was evidently not what he had hoped for and there was a tut of impatience.

  He pulled away and glared angrily at her. ‘You are much less skilled than you should be,’ he accused.

  ‘Skilled?’ she repeated. ‘Is there any need for skill?’

  ‘Indeed there is, madam. A man pays for variety, novelty and stimulation. You have signally failed in every respect.’

  ‘I apologise, sir. If I have failed to satisfy, I shall not demand payment.’ She felt close to weeping, for reasons she could scarcely account for. As the man knelt before her on the bed, at a loss as to how to proceed, a tear escaped.

  ‘You are weeping?’ he said in astonishment. ‘For what reason?’

  ‘My brother is dead,’ she gasped, and without any warning, collapsed into her pillow wracked with sobs.

  The man was not kind. He pulled on his garments and st
amped down the stairs. Fanny heard the door slam a few moments later. Then Carola came hesitantly to investigate, hovering halfway through the door of Fanny’s room. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.

  Fanny tried to stem her sobs, gulping spasmodically, and shook her head. She had a towel pressed to her face, seized blindly from its place beside the bed. Carola sat down beside her, with a hand on her shoulder. ‘Is it Reuben?’

  ‘I guess it must be,’ choked Fanny. ‘It came without warning. I disgraced myself.’

  ‘The man was not difficult?’

  The tears still flowed, but breathing had become easier. ‘He was,’ she said. ‘He made demands…’

  ‘Demands such as that one —?’ Carola tipped her head towards her own room, needing to say nothing more.

  ‘No. No. I was asked to use my mouth.’ Fanny pulled an expression of disgust, her lips twisting. ‘It was unpleasant. I did not please him.’

  ‘No matter. He had not the right.’

  ‘They believe, if they pay us, they have every imaginable right.’

  Carola laughed grimly. ‘Fortunate, then, that so few of them have an imagination. For the most part, they never think beyond the ordinary.’

  ‘But I do not understand why I wept, at that moment. I was not thinking of Reuben at all.’

  ‘And yet I do not suppose you had forgotten him. Who can say just when the truth will burst through, breaking the dammed up tears? It is altogether natural, Fan, to shed tears for a lost brother. I confess that my own pillow was more than a little damp when the sun rose this morning. I did not enjoy more than an hour of sleep the whole night.’

  ‘We cannot close the business for mourning, even so,’ said Fanny. ‘And if you are no longer available, I must earn for us both.’

  ‘I am having an idea,’ said Carola slowly. ‘The thing with the mouth…you dislike it, I see. Well, perhaps we have stumbled on something I might offer, in these last months before the child is here. If we can frame it correctly, we might make it known that for a reduced fee, there is an alternative service available.’

  ‘That man offered to pay double for it.’

  ‘Did he, indeed! You surprise me.’

  ‘Would it not sicken you?’

  Carola shook her head. ‘You forget – it is what we did for those farm boys, a year since, when we were acquiring funds for our venture. I found it almost enjoyable.’ She dimpled in embarrassment.

  ‘I did my best to use my hand, whenever possible.’ Fanny gulped again, swallowing down tears and bile together. ‘I always found it disgusting.’

  Carola shrugged. ‘We will exert whatever choices we can in the matter, but I fear there will be times when you will have to conceal your feelings.’

  Fanny’s misery was in no way assuaged by this. Wherever she looked, there was constraint or loss or lack of hope. Carola had a hand to her abdomen, a distant look in her eye. ‘It moves more with each day,’ she murmured. ‘Like a little friend, reminding me of its presence. I could never have imagined what it would be like.’

  Fanny had no wish to share the experience. For her the infant brought nothing but trouble in its wake. Wearily she went through the chores of the day, listening to steady rain falling outside. Hugo slumped heavily in the scullery, his paws wet from his brief excursion around the yard. Then his ears went up, and he got to his feet, looking fixedly at the front door.

  ‘Someone coming up the steps,’ said Carola, observing the dog. ‘He hears what we cannot.’

  But there was no knock on the door. Carola went to the window and pushed back the drape. ‘A woman,’ she said. ‘Afraid to come any further.’

  With an irritated toss of the head, Fanny threw open the door. Standing on the veranda was a woman in middle age, wearing tidy but worn clothes, her bonnet dripping with rainwater. ‘Will you come in?’ Fanny demanded ungraciously. ‘You are unsettling our dog, standing there.’

  ‘First let me introduce myself. I am Miriam Myers. I have brought you some news.’

  Fanny’s heart lurched. News carried implications of doom, after their previous messenger. ‘What news?’ she asked.

  Carola was at her shoulder. ‘I have seen you,’ she said. ‘At the boarding house.’ She frowned. ‘Where Marybelle is staying.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Indeed so,’ she said.

  Carola had, much to Fanny’s surprise, paid two or three visits to the retired whore over the previous months, reporting back to Fanny that her health was deteriorating steadily. There was little more affection towards her in Carola’s heart than in Fanny’s, and the younger girl had found excuses to avoid paying any visits at all. The smell that emanated from the sick woman was more than enough to deter her. But Carola had overcome her distaste enough to maintain a friendly interest. ‘She is a lonely creature,’ she said. ‘And I feel I have a duty. After all, it could be one of us, some time in the future.’

  ‘We shall always have each other,’ said Fanny irritably. ‘The case is nowhere near the same.’

  ‘Despite that, I am glad to offer her some diversion.’

  Fanny knew she was in the wrong of it, and that she should have gone with Carola. Visiting the sick was a solid obligation across every society she had heard of. To fail so completely, for such a poor reason, was shameful. Knowing this only increased her tetchiness.

  They coaxed Miss Myers inside and sat her down with coffee. There was little urgency about the news she brought. Both girls had already guessed its nature.

  ‘She is dead, then?’ said Fanny. ‘Poor woman.’

  The visitor nodded. ‘It was peaceful at the end. She left letters, and this was amongst them.’ She extracted a damp envelope from a cotton reticule and handed it to Carola. ‘You were the only person good enough to visit her, in her last weeks. She appreciated your kindness very deeply.’

  Carola’s eyes were filling as she blindly took the letter. ‘You were far kinder than I,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Not so, I fear. I did my duty as I saw it. I long ago dedicated my life to mission work, and when my brother left Chemeketa, I elected to stay and do my poor best for any who might need me.’

  ‘You are a missionary?’ Fanny asked. That had not been her understanding.

  ‘In a sense, I am. But I no longer try to convert the Indians to our faith. The world has changed beyond imagining in the ten years since my brother moved away. So many new settlers, so much of the old world brought here to the new. Needs have changed, accordingly.’ Her initial timidity had already abated, and she spoke with animation. ‘You are perhaps unaware of the number of women hereabouts who have been left destitute over the past year or so. Their men die or leave, and they have nothing of their own.’

  ‘Marybelle was not destitute,’ said Fanny.

  ‘She was deathly sick. Money was no use to her.’

  ‘And these other women. You speak of wives left behind while their men go south to seek gold? Surely these men will return, their fortunes made?’

  ‘A very few, in the beginning, perhaps. Now it has descended into a madness from which many men are unable to recover. They lose all sense of proportion and forget their duties at home. Those who retain their decency most often seem to be the unlucky ones, who find little or no treasure. They are often ashamed to come back with empty hands.’

  Carola was reading the letter, which ran to several sheets. ‘She has left me a bequest,’ she said in a faint voice. ‘The bulk of her savings, in fact.’

  ‘You?’ Fanny’s tone was sharper than intended. ‘How much?’

  ‘One thousand dollars.’ The words rang in the room, like a flock of shining angels or fairies; magical and impossible to believe.

  ‘It cannot be,’ said Fanny. ‘She cannot have earned so much as that.’

  ‘That and more,’ said Miriam Myers. ‘She serviced close to five hundred men in those early months of discovering gold, and not a few paid her fifty dollars for her favours. Most saw twenty as a fair price. You can calculate the result as well as I, I fee
l sure.’

  Fanny looked closely at this strange woman. ‘You knew what she had been, and yet provided her with hospitality and care?’

  ‘Of course, She was penitent. Jesus would have accepted her without hesitation. By what right should I do any less? It cost me nothing.’

  ‘And yet you hovered at our door without knocking,’ Fanny accused.

  ‘Merely because it is never pleasant to deliver sad news. I was not afraid of you,’ she added defiantly. ‘It might well be that one day you will have the same need of me that many other women have.’

  Carola made a sound like a moan, threaded with protest. ‘Do not ill-wish us, I beg you.’ she said.

  ‘I merely offer you a warning. You are both very young, with many years ahead. And you, my dear, have particular need to take care. With the responsibility of a little one, life will not be so easy as before.’

  ‘A thousand dollars will make it very much easier,’ said Fanny, with a laugh. ‘With a sum such as that, we need never work again.’

  Miss Myers cocked her head and said nothing. Fanny took no notice. The fairytale wealth was still filling her head with images of palaces and peacocks and servants to attend to every whim.

  ‘The news you brought was not altogether bad,’ said Carola, flourishing the letter. ‘There was never a doubt that Marybelle was mortally sick. But I still cannot credit the sum she has left behind.’ She selected a sheet of paper from those in her hand. ‘This is from her bank. It states that her last will and testament are in proper order, and they are holding her funds pending my attention. Will they simply hand it over to me in banknotes?’ she wondered, wide-eyed.