Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  They said her mother had murdered Fast Hands Stuart, Hannibal Hank’s partner and lifelong friend. Lucinda didn’t know whether her mother had been guilty or not, but Hannibal Hank had been there that night and had beaten her. Lucinda had hidden in the whiskey storeroom during the screaming and shouting. All she knew for sure was that the lynch mob had killed the only person she loved, and then the town preacher had fetched her.

  Her throat constricted at the devastating memories of times best forgotten. The preacher had taken her to Rev. and Mrs. Hurndall’s house. Mrs. Hurndall had been kindly, but the reverend had hated everything about her, calling her “spawn of the devil.” Saying he couldn’t stand the sight of her, he had sent her Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies.

  She clasped her hands in front of her and straightened her back. That frightened little girl seemed like a different person in some other world, dead and buried with her mother. The new Lucinda was educated, confident, and most of all, respectable. And she would mold the Comfort Palace ladies into respectability, too, no matter what Rev. Hurndall claimed or Hannibal Hank did.

  * * * * *

  Gus poked his head through the doorway of Reese’s office. “I got the last of your belongings moved in. The door’s cut in—looks just like the outside so no one will mistake it for the entrance. You don’t have a latch yet, though, so I nailed it shut.”

  Reese appreciated the timely completion of the addition of his bedroom, and he could do without the latch for now. Sleeping in the barn was bad enough, but he sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in the barn with Hannibal Hank. “Thanks.” He motioned for Gus to come in. “Sit for a spell.”

  As Gus sat down, Reese counted out the money he owed for the carpentry work, then handed it over.

  “Obliged,” Gus said as he took the payment and stuffed it in his vest pocket. “I bought a few acres about a mile down the road. This’ll come in handy.”

  “Are you planning on putting up a house and populating it with a certain pretty lady we know?”

  “I’m planning on it, but she ain’t. So I’ll wait.” Gus raised one eyebrow. “How are you gonna get rid of that vermin sleeping in the barn?”

  Reese leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “That asshole’s a blight, all right.”

  “So Fannie says. By her account, he’s beat up plenty of women.”

  “So I hear.” Reese damned well didn’t need any reminders about Hank’s unsavory character—and that his own father had been just as bad, or worse. “That’s why I told the twins to be on security duty twenty-four hours a day.” He stood and walked to the window. Sadie was washing sheets while Holly hung them on the line. Everything seemed normal and deceptively peaceful.

  “I heard tell they worked secret missions and such.”

  “Yep, more than soldiers. Warriors—the best I’ve ever seen. We’d have had a lot more casualties at White Bird if it weren’t for those two.” Reese turned to face Gus. “I put Midas on duty from noon to three in the morning, and Titus will take over at four in the afternoon and guard until seven in the morning. I can cover the rest of the time in the morning—Hank’ll probably be passed out anyway. But I can’t take any more time than that away from my ranch work. I’ve got cattle coming in from Denver any day now.”

  Gus grunted his agreement. “So what you’re getting at is you want someone to fetch and carry for the ladies, since the twins won’t be doing it.”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind. I know that you’ve got your own work, but I’d sure appreciate it if you’d help the ladies out. I’ll pay the same as for your carpentry.”

  “Double the money wouldn’t make up for Fannie’s bossing.” He chuckled. “I’ll help keep an eye out, too.” Gus slapped his leg and stood. “When do I start—now?”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  Gus was already headed out the door, bellowing, “Fannie! I’m yours, woman, waiting for orders.”

  Reese watched as Fannie dragged Gus over to the bar. She didn’t pause for a second before she started issuing instructions. If she had been in the Confederate Army, they’d all be flying the stars and bars.

  Titus strode into the office with conviction of purpose, shut the door and stood in front of the desk looking mad, exasperated, and determined.

  “The ladies voted for me and Midas to get rid of Hannibal Hank and we aim to do it.”

  Reese cast him a hard glance. “No, you won’t. He’ll leave soon enough and I don’t want any violence around here—at least any more than normal.

  “But Cap’n,” Titus argued, “he’s the reason you paid a king’s ransom for us to come out west. We haven’t had a good fight since you told that drunk in Kansas City that you knew a willing widow up the road, and she turned out to be his wife.”

  Reese knew Titus told the truth—about both things. The woman had told him that she was a widow. “The next time I tell a man that he’s being cuckolded, I’m sure as hell not going to pick a man who earns his living as a boxer. I would’ve been a grease spot on the floor if you boys hadn’t showed up.”

  They laughed. Those years after the army had been rowdy, but fun. They’d had money in their pockets, willing women whenever they got the urge to have one, and rotgut whiskey to soothe their memories of a war best forgotten.

  “It was good until the war wages ran out and we had to make a living.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Reese leaned back in his leather chair and motioned for Titus to sit down.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever come in your office during the day but what we haven’t had to shoo Fannie out of here,” Titus remarked as he flopped in a chair.

  Reese smiled and nodded. “She does keep an eye out on the business. They’ve made good money. I’ve been able to deposit over six-hundred dollars in each of the ladies’ accounts in the past year.”

  “Whoo-eee!” Titus bit off a chunk of chaw. “Why don’t you just sell the place like you wanted to in the first place? They ought to live right fine with that kind of money. Me and Midas is ready to work cattle like you promised, and with another five hundred head coming in, we need to get started.” He stretched his legs and leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. A man his size couldn’t get comfortable in most chairs. “You said you’d dump this place inside of six months if you could find a buyer. Hell, you ain’t even looked for one.”

  Reese sighed. “I know, I know. But these ladies would fritter away all six hundred dollars inside a month or two. You know that. Then they’d be right back whoring again. They deserve better, and I aim to give it to them.”

  “You can’t make up for your daddy being a bad apple. These ladies seem happy enough at what they’re doing.”

  “They have no future, Titus, and you know it.”

  “You can’t save every damned wounded filly, Reese. What’re we gonna do with Hannibal Hank?”

  Reese shook his head. “The ladies voted for you and your brother to beat the hell out of him, but just because he deserves it, doesn’t mean it’s right.”

  “It might persuade him that Idaho Territory doesn’t want him.”

  “Fact is he hasn’t done us any harm, not yet, anyway. And your convenient solution might just persuade the sheriff to shut us down.”

  “Hell, we ain’t doing nothing illegal here. Besides, you never wanted this damned whorehouse in the first place.”

  “A sheriff on the frontier can do just about any damned thing he wants to. ‘Course, the main reason is I don’t want anyone to get hurt, and it’s my responsibility to see to it.” Reese rubbed his temple. The very thought of dealing with Hannibal Hank gave him a headache, not because Hank was such an unsavory character, but because it forced Reese to deal with his father’s past—something he’d really rather forget—and the adage that had haunted him for years. Like father like son.

  “Just make sure he doesn’t misbehave himself and that he pays for what he gets. In fact, we might have to raise prices while he’s here.”
>
  “Done.” Titus groaned as he stood, an indication of the long hours he’d been putting in. “I got to get some shut-eye.” With his hand on the doorknob, he paused and said, “We been through a lot together, Cap’n, and we’ll get through this, too.”

  With Titus gone, Reese dug out his ledgers. He stared at them for a few minutes before he opened the cover, wishing his bookwork would just go away, but business had bookwork, whether you sold women or cattle. He sighed and picked up his pen.

  A few minutes later he heard Fannie holler, “You can’t go in there!”

  “The hell I can’t,” yelled a man’s voice as the sound of heavy footfalls approached the office door.

  Damn! But now was as good a time to deal with Hank as any other. He put down his pen and closed the ledger book. Even bookwork was better than Hank. Reese went into the bar to head off his nemesis.

  His legs tensed and his fists clenched when he saw Hank standing at the bar, a sarsaparilla in one hand and a cigar in the other. The gambler looked the same as he had ten years before, about five foot ten and no more than a hundred and forty pounds if he had rocks in his pockets. Scrawny as he was, he was stronger than he looked. Reese remembered his father hooting about the bar brawls Hank had been in, and won every time.

  Reese walked up to the bar and picked up the glass of water that Fannie had poured when she saw him approaching. He nodded at Hannibal Hank. “Turrell,” he said, knowing he sounded belligerent. He had no intention of conveying a welcome to this man.

  “McAdams.” Hank lifted his sarsaparilla in mock salute. “You’ve filled out some, boy.”

  “Some.” Hank’s first attempt to put me at a disadvantage.

  “Reese’s a man now, ain’t no doubt about that,” Fannie said pointedly. Reese appreciated her attempt at aid, but didn’t take his eyes off the man he knew would stab him in the back quicker than any other.

  Hank was getting up in age, around forty-five or fifty, but he didn’t have a single strand of gray in either his black hair or handlebar mustache. Reese wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if Hank didn’t have some shoe black stashed in his saddlebags, along with a pint of hair wax and another set of duds just like what he wore now. Reese had never seen him in anything besides a black coat and pants with a white shirt and a red vest.

  “It don’t look like you got a helluva lot of business out here in the sticks.”

  “Could be better.” Reese wasn’t about to let him know that business flourished at times and paid the bills the rest of the time. Hank would only see it as easy money. “How long until you move on?”

  Hank smiled. “I thought I might settle right here in Dickshooter.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I can help you expand the Comfort Palace. Your daddy and I had several moneymaking concerns, you know.”

  “I know.” Reese leaned against the bar, portraying ease even though he had to concentrate on relaxing his shoulders and fists. All Hank had ever wanted was easy money. “We don’t need any help. Fannie and I are doing just fine, so if that’s the only reason you’re here, you might as well mount up and ride on back to St. Jo.”

  Hank took a long drink of his sarsaparilla and winked at Fannie. “I’m enjoying the scenery. I think I’ll stick around for a while.”

  “Funny, I never thought of you as a man who noticed the beauty of nature,” Reese sneered.

  “Oh, yes,” Hank replied, undaunted. “In fact, some friends of mine ought to be riding in today. We’ll be taking in the sights around here, and bring you a little business, besides.” He stood and doffed his hat. “Oh, by the way, I’m your new neighbor—I bought the other half of the saloon next door.”

  “Other half?”

  “I already owned half. While your daddy started the whorehouse, I set up the saloon and gave the barkeep half interest so he’d make sure to run it profitably. But it seems that he’s tired of all the fuss, so I bought him out this morning.” He strutted out of the room smug as a dog with the last bone.

  Reese hadn’t known that Hank had ever owned any part of the saloon. He wouldn’t for long.

  * * * * *

  The next day, Lucinda scrubbed bedclothes on the washboard, her fingers stinging and knuckles raw from frequent scrapings, but the banter between Sadie and Holly helped keep her mind off Hannibal Hank.

  “I don’t know what in the Sam Hill’s gotten into that Petunia,” Sadie griped. “She was hell-bent that I put on bath water to heat for her.”

  Holly grinned. “Fannie probably got after her again. She gets downright stinky sometimes.”

  “Nope. I asked. Fannie said no such thing.”

  Pride swelled in Lucinda. Maybe the lessons in deportment and grooming were doing some good, after all. “You should be glad that she’s taking a bath, not complaining.”

  “Oh, I am, I am.”

  “Ouch!” Lucinda whimpered, as she scraped another knuckle.

  “You don’t have to help, miss,” Sadie protested again. “It’s them whores what ought to be helping. They’re the ones what dirtied up the sheets.”

  Lucinda ran a sheet through the wringer and handed it to Holly to hang on the line. “I know they did, but I’d rather be doing laundry than doing what they have to do.”

  Sadie winked. “Sometimes it ain’t bad, being with a man and all.”

  That was pretty hard to believe. No wonder the doctors believed that too much of it could harm one’s health. Even if the ladies didn’t get beat up, they risked their lives to disease every single turn. And if it was so good for men, why did they have to get liquored up to get the job done? Reese hadn’t been liquored up when they’d slept together, though, and she had no doubt at all that he could’ve managed the deed.

  Holly came back for another sheet to hang on the line, but had to wait because Lucinda had been too busy contemplating Reese’s abilities instead of scrubbing.

  “Here,” said Sadie, handing Holly a petticoat.

  Holly took it, then asked, “Do men do the same things when they’re married as they do here? I mean, do they want to poke all the time?”

  Sadie laughed. “Here, they can have different merchandise every time. Married men only get brown calico.”

  Lucinda looked down at her brown calico dress. If she ever got married—which she wouldn’t—but if she did, she’d make a point never to wear brown calico again. She scraped her knuckles again. “Piffle!”

  Sadie grabbed a hankie and pressed it on Lucinda’s bleeding finger. “I think it’s about time you went in and worked on school lessons or something. Holly and I can finish up what little’s left to do here.”

  As Lucinda walked through the kitchen to the stairs, she saw Petunia peeking out the front window. “Why don’t you go out for a walk?” Lucinda asked.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that!” Petunia seemed appalled at the suggestion. At the “Whoa!” of the stage driver, her attention immediately diverted back to the window. She leapt across the parlor, shedding clothes as she went.

  “I sure hope Sadie remembered to put the hot water on when I told her to.” Sadie must have, Lucinda thought, because Petunia took down the tub from the kitchen wall and splashed water into it. Naked in no time, she settled in—right there in front of anyone who happened to want a cup of coffee!

  Lucinda made a mental note to include modesty in the next day’s lesson. After a quick lathering of her hair and body, Petunia submerged, then came up spluttering. “Damn! I forgot a towel.”

  “The towels on the clothesline should be dry by now. I’ll get you one.” She needed to get Petunia dried off and out of the kitchen before someone walked in on her. The stage driver treated the Comfort Palace like his own home and he’d think nothing of wandering in the kitchen looking for a bite to eat. Right now, he'd find a lot more than that.

  She dashed out the back door to find Midas talking with Sadie and Holly. “Don’t go into the kitchen!” she yelled as she grabbed a towel off the line and ran back into the hous
e. Then, remembering she needed to talk to Midas, she tossed the towel to Petunia and went back out on the porch. “I need to talk to you.”

  Midas looked at her, waiting.

  “In private.”

  Sadie winked at Holly. “Prob’ly about Chrissy.” They both giggled, and he cast a disgusted scowl their way.

  “All right, we’ll talk in here.” He started for the kitchen door.

  Lucinda threw herself in front of it. “No!” She couldn’t let him in there—Petunia had no clothes on.

  Midas took off his hat and scratched his temple. “Well, ma’am, I don’t rightly know where else there is to go, unless you’d like to go over to the saloon with me and have a drink.”

  “Of course not!” Petunia was naked in the kitchen and Hank might be in the barn, but a saloon was not an appropriate establishment for a respectable lady to frequent. The people here still thought of her as respectable, and as long as Hank kept his mouth shut, she’d do whatever was necessary to keep her good reputation.

  “Miss Sharpe!” Lucinda heard Petunia calling her from the kitchen.

  “Stay here,” she told Midas. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  Midas snapped her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Lucinda heard Sadie and Holly giggling as she dashed back into the kitchen before Petunia came out—bare backside and all. She must not have sat in the tub long enough to get wet.

  Petunia tugged on a beautiful pink dress. “Help me do up the buttons, would you?”

  Lucinda studied the situation. She didn’t have any dresses that fastened in the back, only the side. “You’ll have to take your dress back off so I can lace your corset tighter. This dress won’t quite meet where it needs to.”

  “Hurry, please!” Petunia sounded harried as she whipped off her dress. Lucinda gave her corset laces a few good, strong tugs while Petunia held her breath.

  “I think that will do. Put your dress back on.”

  Petunia could barely move, her corset was so tight. Lucinda picked up the dress and helped Petunia into it. The fit was perfect. No sooner had Lucinda fastened the last hook, Petunia was hurrying out the front door, waving her thanks on the way.