by L. E. Waters
The town doesn’t look like much, but the vista of mountains and farmlands full of corn is beautiful. I walk into the first decent-looking hotel I see and inquire about a room. The man at the desk looks me up and down suspiciously and asks, “What’s a nice girl like you doing traveling without a companion?”
“My Ma and Pa’s dead, sir,” I say without meeting his eyes. “I’m looking to make a new life for myself.”
“You’re not promised to any man out here?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about so I just shake my head in response.
“You’re in room seven. The outhouse’s out back and Matilda will come around to fill your washbowl so you can get all cleaned up before supper.”
As soon as I get into the room and out of my boots, I collapse on the bed and don’t even hear Matilda come in the room to fill my washbowl. She gently wakes me up, saying, “Dinner is going to be served in an hour.” Then she walks back out and closes the door. I’m exhausted and can’t figure out why. Life was definitely harder in the army. I look at how much money I have and realize I can only afford another night here at the hotel. I’m going to have to go look for some kind of work in the morning. Suddenly I’m grabbing my mouth and racing for the chamber pot by the bed. After I get sick, I lie down, trying to think about what illness I might have caught on the train. Could this be from female ailment? Then it hits me. I should have had these pains three weeks ago.
I’m carrying a child.
I can’t even think about the reality of this. Part of me is terrified, even as the other part of me smiles with the idea that I managed to hold on to a piece of James. But what am I going to do? No one will marry me for sure. I could even be ostracized. I could pretend I was married and the father died, but I had already told this man that my parents had died. Even if I lied to people, who would hire a strange pregnant woman?
I head downstairs and eat alone. I see some of the other patrons glancing up at me, wondering why I’m unaccompanied. Matilda must have noticed this and comes to sit with me when I’m almost finished. She’s an older woman, mostly likely the innkeeper’s wife, who probably cooked the food I’m eating.
She smiles at me and asks, “Is the food satisfactory?”
“It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in months.” Which is God’s honest truth. “Could I get another cup of coffee?”
“That’s your third cup?” She changes her tone. “Too much coffee can rattle your nerves, dear.”
“I developed a nasty habit on the train rides out here.”
She fetches the coffee pot and pours the delicious dark liquid into the small white tea cup. The aroma takes me back to the campfire and resting after fatigue duty or a long march. How I miss that wonderful hell.
I lay my fork down for a moment to ask, after I swallow, “Would you know of any place I could get work?”
She tsks with a gloomy head shake, then lays a finger alongside the large mole beside her eye to think. “Well, there’s not much around here to make a living out of. All of the immigrants have taken over the laundry business and most of the servants jobs around here. They ask for only half of the pay local folk ask, so everybody’s using them. Don’t you got no family around here?”
“No, mam. They’re all buried.”
“Even if you get a help job around here, how ya gonna be able to pay for room somewhere decent enough? This can be a dangerous town for a girl like yourself to be alone in. I’m sure there’s plenty of men here that would like to marry a nice girl like you. Decent women are outnumbered here twenty to one. Yeah, there sure are a great number of soiled doves, but a girl like you is a rarity.”
Little did she know who she’s talking to. “Well, thank you very much. I think I’ll go to bed and think about what my options are.”
“God bless you, honey,” she says, with a motherly pat on my shoulder.
While I’m closing my windows, the lights of the town glow as the saloon music plays and rowdy men holler. There must be three dancehalls on this one street, all packed and full of men. As I lie down on the bed, I think about how long I probably have until I’ll show. Six or seven months? Will James be back by then? Will he even come at all? I realize if I’m going to make money to support a baby and me I’m going to have to make it fast. I don’t have much time. A woman’s musical laugh drifts in and I gather it must be a dance hall girl. Could I do what she does? How hard could that be? I have been though military camp, battles, prison camp, all in disguise. How hard could painting myself up, showing my knickers and dancing be? But will James come back and not marry me because of this? I decide to go to one of the dancehalls tomorrow and see what kind of a place it is and then I’ll make my decision.
Chapter 13
I pick my nicest dress and put my short hair up in the only ribbon I have, trying to make up for the longer boy cut. I bought a few things at the last station. After years of hiding my femininity I still seem masculine. I walk out the hotel door and down the street. I notice some men watching me in my side vision but I keep my head up. I walk right into the first saloon, which has fancy gold lettering spelling Fandango, whatever that means, above the door. A few men, with cards in their hands, sit at a table drinking and they glance up at me. I’m not used to this world. What am I doing here?
“Can I help you with something?” the bartender calls out. He probably thinks I’m in the wrong place.
I look over to see one of the men staring me up and down while scratching his gristly beard. I quickly say, “No, I must be in the wrong place.”
As I’m backing out, a larger-than-life silhouette emerges from a back room. She’s over-painted and her hair is bouncing with black ringlets. She’s a large lady, with the most opulent bosom I’ve seen, most of it protruding out of her dress. My eyes must have widened at the sight of her, because she says, “Dear, dear, don’t be frightened. My name is Molly O’Sullivan, but people round here call me the Irish Queen. Now why don’t ya come over here with me and we can have a private chat. Just you and little ol’ me.”
She takes me into a room, off of the bar room, that’s lavishly decorated with velvet and tassels. She pops a stoppered bottle of some sort of golden liquid, fills a shot glass and offers it to me. My stomach turns at the sight so I make a gesture that I won’t partake. She raises her painted-on eyebrows and throws it back in one gulp. Her slate-blue eyes look as if they’ve seen everything. As she sits down next to me, I see a long scar running from her wrist to her elbow. I try to image what could have occurred to cause it, having only seen it before with bayonet scars.
She observes me noticing her scar and turns her arm around to hide it. She asks, “So, why did ya come here? Do ya need some assistance, sweetheart?”
I ask, without looking into her eyes, “Do you have any jobs available and what would be required of me?”
She can’t control her smirk, as it stretches tightly across one side of her face. She hoists her opulent body up out of the burdened chair and leans over to touch my knife-cut hair. “What did you do to yerself here, Hun?”
I answer with the only thing I can think of. “I got my braid caught in a factory machine back in the city and nearly ripped my scalp off.”
She releases me and sinks back into her chair, which creaks in protest. “Well, if yer going to dance here at the Irish Queen, yer going to need to borrow one of my wigs until it grows in proper. Not my good ones from France, mind ya. Maybe one of the old ones I hardy never wear.” And with that she has some sort of spasm, where she sucks in air, hiccup-like, and then just as quickly releases a belch. Looking up, unabashed, she continues as if what just happened never occurred. “Let’s get down to business. We always have room for new girls here, since we like to change up our girls every six months or so, since men are but fickle folk. Ya look fresh and young and I take it you’ve never done this before?”
I shake my head.
She asks quickly, while studying my reaction “Are ya sick?�
��
I shake my head.
She says even quicker, “Have ya ever been with a man?”
She catches me by surprise and I become flustered. Before I can answer, she says, “Aw, don’t worry, darlin’. I ain’t hired a cat yet who didn’t have previous experience.” Her whole body quakes with laughter. I feel my cheeks getting hot and wish I’d never stepped foot in the place.
She continues after her laughter ceases. “We’re a clean establishment and expect our girls to be washed and clean at all times. Yer expected to use yer wages to buy the finest dresses from France and ya can borrow money from me until ya can pay me back for it. Yer expected to curl your hair and wear French perfume. Yer expected to be gay and give the patrons here a good time. We want them to drink until they’re full as ticks and ya keep any tips they give ya. Men will pay ya for dances, which are fifty cents a dance, and I get half of that. Some men might ask ya to go upstairs for further entertainment, and that is up to ya, if ya want to endeavor that. If ya do decide to entertain them further, tell them to come to me because I’m in charge of that business. If ya decline, ya suggest one of yer upstairs sisters to continue. Yer expected to work one long shift every night, except Sundays—as I’m a faithful Catholic through and through—but ya have the rest of yer time free for ya to spend how ya see fit. I’m a fair and Godly Madame but—”As she says this one of her eyes narrows while the other widens, and her yellowed teeth clamp tight as she speaks through them, “—if I catch ya stealing from me then God help ya.”
Then she suddenly pulls back, with the gentlest expression, and continues, “But if ya decide to work for me ya’ll make more money in one good night than a whole month washing laundry. If ya do decide to come here than ya bring yer bags here tomorrow morning. I’ll have a room cleared out for ya and I’ll tell ya more then.”
She helps me up, while my mind spins with information, and walks me into the saloon area. I now see all of the working girls are all gathered on the upstairs balcony watching me. All I can see is a row of silks, ruffles, feathers, ringlets, and sparkling jewelry. They sure are a beautiful bunch of women. How can I compete with them? I leave and walk back to my hotel room. Matilda peers through her lace curtain at me and I wonder how long she’s been watching me. As I lay down in my bed, I wish I was still back in that camp with James in that tiny tent. I worry about what’s going to happen to him. I feel guilty as I realize he probably ate nothing today while I ate like a queen. I wonder if he’s thinking of me too, but fall asleep before I can finish the thought.
Chapter 14
I pack up my suitcase and settle up with the innkeeper. Matilda follows me out the door and grabs my hand, looking me in the eye. “I know a nice man from church who’s lookin’ for a pious wife. We could stop to bring lunch to him at his farm this very afternoon.”
Her smile fades as I shake my head at her kind attempt and she wipes her hands on her apron and squints out across the road toward the Fandango. “Well, may God watch over you, child, and come back here if you get in any trouble.”
She must have watched me leave the Fandango yesterday and I stare down at my feet, wishing I could explain my situation. She goes back inside quickly, the porch door slamming shut behind her.
When I come through the open door with my suitcase, Molly turns and smiles like the devil welcoming Eve to the apple tree. She motions to the barkeep to get my bags. The tall, slightly balding man rushes from behind the bar with the sweetest smile I’ve seen in months. Before he picks up my suitcase he shakes my hand.
“People round ‘ere call me Clem.” His handshake is both gentle and firm at the same time. Molly motions for us to follow her up the beautiful winding stairs to the spindled balcony above. Molly opens the fourth door off the balcony. It’s a small wallpapered room with a generous bed, small chest and washstand. There’s one shuttered window that lets in a scant amount of light through the blinds. Molly hustles to open the shutters, which brightens the room. It’s the nicest room I’ve ever had. There are opulent feather pillows, soft clean sheets and a worn-in, lovely patchwork quilt. Clem places the suitcase beside the bed and heads back downstairs.
Molly starts, “Well, this here’s yer room. We have two Irish girls who do our wash once a week, but if ya entertain any customers ya must change yer sheets between patrons. Yer pitcher here is filled twice a day fer ya to wash properly and I expect ya to be clean. Yer allowed out for some fresh air, but if I find out that yer entertainin’ men outside of Fandango, ya’ll be out so fast yer head will spin.” She lets her stern stare set for a moment but then just as abruptly changes course.
Patting the large trunk at the end of the bed, she says, “This here’s yer own personal chest. After some robberies from our girls I figured I needed to get something that locked.” She stuffs a cold key into my palm. “Here ya go. Make sure to hide yer key somewhere good. Havin’ seven girls here now under one roof, yer all bound to fight. But seeing as I charge each girl one dollar fer every catfight I have to break up, they’ve died down a bit.
She glances around the room, searching for any more points. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She rushes out and returns with a small brown bottle. “If ya do decide to entertain, this here will keep ya from getting in trouble.” She hands it to me with a heavy wink.
I realize that will not be a problem for me, but I accept it, nodding thankfully.
“If ya do get in trouble, travlin’ to a willing doctor, having it taken care of and the time ya lost in the process will cost ya a fortune.” She breathes out a long sigh, as if she has dealt with that one too many a time. “If ya see anything out of the ordinary…on their man parts…ya can decline and come tell me. I don’t want no sick whores here if I can help it.”
“I don’t think I’ll be entertaining any men. Dancing will suit me just fine.”
She sneers and snickers so close to my face I can smell the alcohol on her breath although the sun hadn’t even reached noon yet. “That’s what they all say, sweetie, but once they see those greenbacks rollin’ in, they change their tune.” With this she closes the door and leaves me to put my things away. I take a look around to be sure I’m alone and hide my key inside the loose knob on my iron bedpost.
I’m alone in my room for about twenty minutes before I hear commotion outside my door and a knock. I open the door to a beautiful blonde girl, with two other lovely girls behind her. The blonde girl studies me, apparently relieved at my plainness, and walks into my room with chin high, declaring, “The boys call me Sweet Savannah and I’ve been here the longest out of all the girls. I have the biggest room and the most expensive dress collection next to Molly.”
She actually bends over and opens my unlocked chest to pillage through my clothes, obviously disgusted at what I have. She pointedly hits her hands together to show that she thinks my garments are dirty.
“My name’s Venus Viv,” says a pretty brunette with the palest ice-blue eyes. “I haven’t been here very long either.”
A smiley, curvaceous girl with reddish hair proclaims, “I’m Annie Fanny. You could borrow one of my wigs if you want—eh, not that you need to or anything.”
The comment makes me touch my hair and instantly causes her to blush. I immediately feel like I don’t belong with these beauties.
Savannah, picking up on my insecurity like a wolf watching for lameness, turns around and says, “The men around here come from miles just to pay to look at us. To smell how good we smell and see how fancy our dresses are. Men pay me twice as much for a dance than any girl here.”
Viv rolls her eyes and gives her widow’s peak a flip while Annie looks on in awe of Savannah.
Trying to change the subject, I ask, “Molly said there were six girls. Where are the other three?”
Annie answers cheerfully, “Oh, they’re in their rooms, but we don’t really talk to them much since—”
“They’re the upstairs girls,” Savannah interrupts. “We’re a whole different class th
an them.” She looks at me again snidely, with her amber eyes flaring. “Although you might feel more comfortable with them. Want me to introduce you?” she asks with an evil giggle.
With that she walks out with Viv and Annie in tow and says loud enough for me to hear, “What was Molly thinking making her a dancer? She looks like a boy.”
I’m starting to wonder why Molly hired me also. At the end of the hall there are three more rooms with the doors open, looking identical to mine except for the different colored quilts. All three girls are in one room talking together, and when Savannah comes in they appear disinterested.
Savannah begins, “Ladies, this here’s the new girl…oh, what was your name again?” She dives onto the end of the bed and I notice the coffee-colored birthmark above her sculpted knee as her skirts crinkle up around her.
“Actually you never asked.”
This makes all the other girls smile and Savannah looks a little perturbed. I take a step into the room and put my hand out to shake the three girls’ hands. “My dancing name will be Josie.” Molly told me to change my name a bit and never give out my last name.
“Hi Josie. They call me Goodness Gracie,” says a slender, freckled, auburn-haired girl.
“Because she’s so graceful,” chuckles a dark-eyed girl with blazing, rosy cheeks who Gracie hits with a pillow.
“This is Lil Lottie.” Then Gracie points to the last girl in the room. “And that is Beth.”
Savannah jumps in immediately. “The men around here call her Big Bottomed Beth.” Beth looks to the ground self-consciously and I can see why they call her that. Her unusually narrow waist only emphasizes a round backside. She has pretty blonde hair but the color of her complexion does not look good. She seems to be sweating even though it’s an unusually breezy day and the window is open. She has her arms defensively crossed, awkwardly holding on to each elbow, and leans uncomfortably off the side of the bed.
