The new woman stepped into the room and considered me. She too was clad in a dressing gown, though hers was a creamy yellow, with blue forget-me-nots trailing over its length. She was winsome, pale as milk and certainly younger than Jola, with long black hair and eyes as big as a doe’s in a narrow white face. She said, “Pleased to meet you, Lila.”
I sensed kindness in her voice, a softness. She joined us, sitting on my other side and reaching to feel my hair, as Jola had done. Though her hands were gentle rather than speculative.
“Jola, a moment?” she asked.
Deirdre rose gracefully, as Jola disappeared down the hall, and eased my door nearly closed. I watched her silently. When she took her place again on the bed, she said, “You’re just a girl. I heard what Ginny was saying about making them bid for you. Damn her. She’s got the devil in her, Lila, believe me.”
When I didn’t speak, she continued, taking my cold hands into hers, “It’s not an easy thing to get used to, but it won’t hurt after the first few times, I promise. Do you know anything about a man’s body?” She studied my eyes and concluded, “No, you don’t. Where did you come from?”
“Lafayette, Tennessee,” I whispered. “My daddy owned a ranch there. He was killed in the War.”
“My husband, too,” she whispered, and her eyes closed for a moment. When she opened them, she said, “Men are all the same when it comes to rutting, Lila. It’s what drives them. I learned about men from my Joshua, but I did love him. We were married but a year before he was killed. I’ve had too many men to count by now, but I still remember the sweetness of what we had then. It can be a blessed thing, but here you won’t find that.” She tipped her head to the side and asked, “Have you seen horses mate, perhaps? You said a ranch…”
I nodded at that, cringing at the thought of the arm-sized phallus of a horse.
“Well, a man’s pecker gets rigid like a horse’s, though not near the size,” and she giggled before going on, “And all they want to do when it gets rigid is stick it up inside the nearest woman they can find. Right here,” she said, indicating her lap. “Within you, where a baby would be birthed. It does ache the first time, and you’ll bleed, there’s no helping that. But butter helps ease their passage, if you’re too sore.”
My stomach rolled, in pure horror.
“And they’ll move it in and out, faster and faster, usually, until their pecker bursts. That’s what you must clean out in the mornings, that’s what will lead to a child. Some may want to kiss you, or suckle your breasts, but most just want their time inside of you. Most don’t take the time to pretend affection.” Deirdre looked at me in sympathy. “You’ll learn.” And then, “Have you any gowns to wear?”
At the last moment I turned, blindly. Deirdre understood and scrambled for the basin under the bed, getting it to my chin as I heaved. There was blessed little in my stomach, hardly enough to cause alarm, but I could not stop retching, gasping for breaths in between each. Deirdre held the basin until I calmed a measure, curling around my stomach on the bare mattress. I wanted to be dead, and yet I was too afraid to take my own life, for fear of retribution. My only hope was that I would be reunited with my family in heaven, someday. If I took my own life, I would not be allowed that privilege.
“You must get ahold of yourself,” Deirdre scolded, but kindly. “You must, Lila. There is no other choice, not here. And you mark my words about Ginny. It doesn’t do to anger her.”
I remembered well how Mama would laugh as she’d say, “Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” usually in reference to one of my brothers. Those words burned in my mind just then, as clicking footsteps sounded.
“Sit up, quick!” Deirdre demanded, whisking the basin out of sight.
I did as she bade just as Ginny sailed through the door, her arms burdened with garments. These she flung onto the chair alongside the bed and ordered, “Deirdre, outfit her. I’ve been spreading the word about our little virgin here, and I want her ready for show in three hours. You hear?” Her dark eyes included me in the question.
“Of course,” said Deirdre, in a different tone than she’d been using with me, and I forced myself to nod.
Ginny disappeared yet again.
Jola returned with a tray containing a tea pot, three porcelain cups, scones laced with cream, butter, sliced ham and boiled potatoes. She plunked this upon the bed and nodded to it, suggesting, “You best eat while you can. After the place gets busy you’ll be holed up in here ’til morning light.”
Deirdre took my hands once again and eased me to my feet, saying, “Let’s get you undressed and bathed, first thing. We’ve a bath off the kitchen. I’ll have Betsy start heating water for you.”
An hour later I’d been scrubbed and doused unceremoniously by the servant woman named Betsy, with Deirdre overseeing. She kept a running commentary as Betsy worked over me, perhaps to dispel my quaking nerves, but mostly because I needed to know the information she was imparting. Though my blessings were few, I thanked God for Deirdre, who seemed truly kind.
“Betsy, here, won’t be available to bathe you every day,” she said.
Betsy, who was sturdy and solid-fisted, gave a snort as she worked a scrub brush over my shoulders. I was naked before two strangers, but they were so matter-of-fact that my stomach relaxed a fraction, though I was still shamed.
“You take care of yourself between the legs,” Betsy added, in a gruff voice. “You keep yourself clean there.”
“You’ve a good pair of breasts,” Deirdre observed, tilting her head. “And lovely long legs. And Betsy’s right about your flesh. Treat it gently, yourself. A milk bath, every so often, in your room. Fill the tin washtub, there,” she pointed, “with milk and set in it, at least twice a week. That will help. I wish I could tell you that it won’t hurt you this evening, but it will. It’s so tight there, the first few times. And you’ll be fearful.” Her eyebrows were crooked up with sincere concern. “But we’ve all lived through it, and so will you. I hope it’s a gentle man who outbids the others. I do hope. Damn that Ginny.”
Betsy snorted again, then laughed. She advised, “Don’t you be repeating that, girl.”
Deirdre giggled, moving behind Betsy to fetch a box from the hutch. She extracted a skinny black cigar, lit it with a match, and braced her elbow on the opposite hand to smoke as she continued to watch my bath. She said, “Lila isn’t simple, Bets, she wouldn’t repeat such a thing. You see,” and she lowered her voice a touch, “Ginny is addicted to the pipe.” Upon seeing my confusion, she exhaled a cloud of smoke and explained, “Opium. She’ll do near anything to get it. Makes her crazy.”
“And mean as a boar,” Betsy added. “There, girl, you’re clean.”
I rose, gingerly, and Betsy wrapped me in a thick towel, saying, “Now, go with Deirdre and get dressed.”
“Blue, I think,” Deirdre said, back in my room. She was still clad in her yellow dressing gown, which gaped open a few inches, though she seemed unaware as she stood before me, untangling my hair with an ivory comb. I looked at her skin, bared before my eyes; her own breasts were small and firm, her belly white as a dusting of snow, and as smooth. She drew the long hair over my shoulders and twined its length into curls, saying, “Let’s put up the sides and keep some trailing over your neck. Lord, you’re a lovely sight. Has a boy ever tried to kiss you, hold your hand?”
Most of the boys I’d ever known had been killed in the past years of war. I shook my head, feeling detached from myself, as though I hovered above our bodies, watching silent as a ghost near the ceiling. Downstairs, on the main floor, someone was tinkling a piano’s keys; there was a sense of an evening just about to get rolling below. I prayed that I would live through what was expected of me. She caught my face between her hands and surprised me by placing a kiss on my forehead.
“I am grieved that your first time will be this way,” she
said, drawing back to look into my eyes. “It’s not right. You should be married to a good man and he should have this gift.” The expression upon her face was so sorrowful for an instant that my heart seized, but she eased back, resuming her ministrations.
Within another hour, she had applied rice powder to my face and lined my upper eyelids with a slender stick of black kohl similar to the one Mama had used upon herself when I was a girl. She tinted my lips and cheeks with a small porcelain pot of rose-colored stain and then licked her index finger and combed over my lashes. My hair was twisted high upon my head, but for the long curls that Deirdre had left hanging over my shoulders. I’d been tucked into a borrowed gown unlike any I’d ever known; the word ‘gown’ was rather misleading, as it covered little of my flesh. It was laced snugly about my waist and scooped my breasts high, a slippery indigo satin with black over-lace; the skirt was gauzy and just reached my knees. I wore no bloomers, no undergarments, and felt absurdly exposed, too vulnerable to contemplate. My legs were clad in black stockings that buttoned to a slim belt beneath my skirt, my feet in soft velvet slippers.
“These are much easier to get on and off than boots with lacings,” Deirdre explained. As she’d worked, more than one curious face had popped into my room; other women who worked for Ginny, and whose names were lost in the frightened swirl of my thoughts. Ginny herself appeared as Deirdre was adjusting my hair one last time; at the sight of Ginny, Deirdre straightened and said, “I’ll return for you, Lila.”
Left alone with my employer, I willed myself to continue breathing. Ginny entered the room, lit now by two lanterns in addition to the fading sun, and perused me yet again, one finger tapping her painted lips. She said, “You’ll do. You’ll do just fine, Lila. I’ve quite a crowd assembled below, and I trust you’ll play your part. Am I right?”
I nodded instantly, my hands pressed flat to the unfamiliar material over my stomach. I hadn’t been able to eat a bite, nor so much as sip water, fearful of vomiting.
“Good, stay up here until I announce you. Half an hour or so,” she ordered, and then disappeared, her heels clicking over the floorboards.
Deirdre poked her head in a quarter hour later, her face painted and dressed so gaudily I scarce recognized her. She said, “Show time, Lila.”
Trembling and terrified, I followed her down the hall.
Later, I would recall the moment as something from a nightmare, carnival sounds and garish sights nauseatingly amplified. The open staircase wound down into a bustle of activity that brought to my mind ants at spilled sugar. Men caroused everywhere, laughing, talking, drinking; some were seated at green, felt-topped tables, cards fanned before them. From above, the women circulating the rowdy crowd appeared as bright flowers among the dun-colored garb of most of the men. Here and there was a flash of Federal blue, startling me, though I well knew that those who had lived through the War and been discharged from service were allowed to keep their uniforms. St. Louis had been Federal-controlled for most of the fighting, though it mattered little now. Deirdre descended with practiced, seductive motions, the fingers of her right hand trailing lightly on the banister; she peeked over her shoulder at me and tipped her chin, indicating that I mimic her.
Ginny, from below, saw us descending and gestured to a man behind the bar, a huge, slope-shouldered man with a flat nose and a barrel-shaped chest. He lifted his hands and announced in a husking baritone, “Quiet!” and, as anticipated, a hush fell over the crowd.
Again I was stunned that the swirling eddies of guilt, shame and fear did not instantly smite me dead. Ginny spoke loudly into the stillness, as eyes lifted to watch us. And then murmurings followed, and a couple of low-pitched laughs.
“Gentlemen, let me introduce to you my newest gal, lovely Lila. Fresh as a peach, gentlemen, sweet as rainwater on a parched throat. Pure as Easter Sunday, fellas, if you take my meaning, and she goes to the highest bidder!”
A burst of noise then, as we reached the main floor. Men were shouting and caterwauling and calling, leaning over one another to gander at me. Deirdre led me through the crowd of leering faces, to the raised, wedge-shaped platform that jutted from a corner of the room and already contained the piano and the slim, red-haired man who was pounding music from its black and white keys. She led me up the single step, her long white arm extended gracefully, before turning me neatly to face the crowd; to my terror-dazed eyes, they appeared ready to consume me in one gulp.
“Look at that face!” Ginny was heralding from across the wide room. “Look at that sweetness, gentlemen. Who will give me twenty for her, twenty?”
The floor seemed to erupt with bidding. Ginny called out, “Twenty-five!”
“Thirty!”
“Thirty-five!”
Deirdre took my fingertips into her own, delicately, and lifted my right arm, turning me in a slow circle as though we were dancing. The candles in the swinging overhead chandeliers dazzled my eyes; I wished, fervently, that they would explode into flame and burn this entire place to the ground in one spectacular blaze of sin and shame. I spent a moment wondering where Jim Foster and his three children were, and if he regretted doing such a heinous thing to me. I hoped he did. I hoped he’d burn in hell.
“Do I hear forty, gentlemen, forty dollars? Nothing for such an angel, such a beauty!”
There were shouts and complaints, as the bidding rose too high for most. The saloon was surely bursting to capacity, the batwing swinging doors sprawled wide on their hinges to accommodate the growing crowd.
“I hear forty!” Ginny crowed. “Is there forty-five?”
My frantic eyes roved the crowd, attempting to discern which men were attached to which bids. There was a forty-five. I could hardly fathom anyone willing to spend such an amount.
And then a voice rose above the din, shouting in triumph, “Fifty dollars!”
There was a pocket of disbelieving silence before a roar rose above our heads. The man who’d bid this staggering amount was pushing his way through the crush of bodies, waving a leather pouch in the air. Ginny shouted, “Sold, for fifty dollars! To Buckley Hill!”
“He ain’t got that money!”
“He’s fulla horse shit, that one!”
“Hill! I’ll trade you right now, for the mare I got outside!”
More laughter and cursing and shouting. My eyes were locked upon the man I would be forced to take back upstairs to my room and…what I would have to do after that was too dreadful to contemplate. He was rangy and wiry, perhaps two score and then some, with skin as brown as saddle leather, dirty-brown hair scraped back from a slim face with scruffy eyebrows. Had I a knife, I would have sunk it into my own right eye, and all chances of heaven would be lost to me forever. Though at that moment, I was certain they were anyway. I had never been more repulsed or frightened in my entire life.
In the chaos, Deirdre leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “He’s a regular, not a bad sort. He won’t last long, honey, it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Come here, girl!” he said, using one leg to hoist himself upon the platform and then sweeping me up into his arms. I caught the sharp scents of him immediately, leather and sweat and whiskey. He turned to face the crowd, holding me in a grotesque parody of a bride on her wedding night. At the last moment Deirdre caught my hand and squeezed hard. I had a glimpse of her eyes before he stepped down and carried me through the crowd. And her eyes gave me resolve.
We all lived through it, she’d said.
Trouble was, I didn’t want to live that long.
Upstairs, he kicked shut the door to my room and the sounds from the floor below were instantly muffled. I was breathing hard, with short, panicked breaths, though he didn’t seem to notice. He was grinning at me, breathing fast too, as though it had winded him to carry me up the ornate staircase.
“A virgin,” he muttered, and he swiped at his
upper lip with the back of one hand, his eyes roving up and down my body. “Fancy that.”
I did not know if I was supposed to speak to him, address him in some way. I felt as though I would die, and had no words, if words were even expected. My heart was surely about to rip to pieces, my mind floundering for something solid around which to wrap its drowning fingers. He reached then and slid the black lace straps from my shoulders. I heard a whimpering sound coming from my throat, but again, he paid my state of mind little regard.
My father had not been a drinking man, though I’d lived long enough to know the sight of someone touched by liquor. And this man surely was, his eyes appearing watery and streaked with red, shadowed beneath. He licked his lips, tugging at the straps when they stuck near my elbows. I felt tears in my eyes and tried to blink them back as he succeeded in baring my body from the waist up. I could not quell basic instinct and my forearms rose and crossed instantly to cover my breasts.
He laughed then, as though amused by a child’s antics, catching my wrists and forcing them back down.
“Don’t be shy,” he insisted, keeping his fingers locked around me and guiding me to the bed. He pushed me down upon it; Betsy had indeed made it up at some point this afternoon, with linens and a rose-patterned spread. Two plump pillows with tasseled edges sat side by side near the brass headboard. He added, “I won’t hurt you none.”
Sobs were forcing themselves up my throat; I felt as though I may suffocate at any moment. He continued to tug at my dress, making strange sounds, grunting. He cursed when it refused to budge further, tipping his head as though confused, and then simply lifted my skirt, bunching it up past my waist. I was shaking now, unable to help it, my kneecaps jittering. And then his hand cupped the flesh between my legs and tears flooded my face, rolling over my temples as I bit my bottom lip to keep from sobbing. He plunged what felt like a finger within my body and said, “Damn if it ain’t the truth. You’re tight as a drum, girl.”
Heart of a Dove Page 2
