Heart of a Dove

by Abbie Williams

  I swallowed away all of the humiliation, closing my eyes for a heartbeat. When I opened them again, the woman was regarding me with frank speculation. I forced myself to look at Hiram as I said, “I’m seeking a woman named Ada Cross.”

  He thumbed over his shoulder at the woman and again relief swamped me; I had found her. Now to secret her away from this group to speak privately. Though I should have realized there would be no such fortune. Immediately one of the other men made a scolding noise and asked, “You got yourself in trouble, huh, girl?”

  I felt scalding anger rise in my chest. Even if I had been upon this errand for myself, it would have hardly been my fault alone. As though a man wasn’t every bit as much to blame in such matters. I bit back my steaming words and this time implored Ada, who’d not yet spoken. I said, “I’ve a need of…your help.”

  The men were laughing now, though Ada blew smoke from the corner of her mouth and then rose with some difficulty, reaching for a cane that had been braced near her seat. She said to me in a low-pitched voice, made hoarse with tobacco, “Don’t mind these fools, girl.”

  She was small and slight, stooped a little over the wooden cane. She beckoned and I followed instantly. Once around the far corner, she said, “I can tell it ain’t for you. Who then?”

  “A friend,” I said, breathless with concern. “I’ve promised her I would find you. Where we work, a child…could never…”

  She nodded at once. “I’ve a tea that brings on the pains. Let it steep for a good half hour before drinking. She’ll be in pain for a good day, perhaps longer. Tell her she may never conceive again.”

  I nodded, fearful of these things I would have to tell Deirdre. The woman had a pouch made of ticking that was tied to her skirt with a length of rope. She handed me her cane, then her pipe, which I was reluctant to handle, but did. She rummaged within the pouch, extracting a small burlap bag tied with blue ribbon.

  “This is the last I have. I can let you have it for a dollar,” she told me, dangling it before my eyes as though to hypnotize me. I nodded at once, and she reclaimed her pipe and cane, both, letting me take the tea.

  “I’ve a dollar,” I told her, rummaging for coins within my own bag, anxious to be away. “Here, and thank you, ma’am.”

  She swept my money into her pouch at once, plugging her mouth with the pipe. And without another word she went back to the card game I had interrupted. I clutched the burlap bag and hastened away, though footsteps were suddenly coming behind. It couldn’t have been Ada, as she walked haltingly. My heart beat fearfully, sensing danger, even as a cajoling voice said, “Lila, wait. I have money, if you’ve time.”

  I turned and saw one of the men from the table approaching me with a grin, just slightly unsteady. I could smell his whiskey breath and summoned up my courage; I had to tread lightly or he would be not only offended but perhaps violent. I called upon all of my acting skills as I smiled back, with hints of both apparent regret and seduction, and told him, “Ginny would be upset with me if I provided services outside Hossiter’s. I would be punished.”

  He reached me and took my arm, drawing me unwittingly near. He murmured, “I won’t ever tell. Hiram speaks well of you, and you are the sweetest little whore I’ve ever seen.” His hand moved to stroke my cheek and I forced myself to remain still.

  “You can’t wish for me to be punished,” I said, trying and failing to keep the tremble from my voice.

  “Not unless I’m doing the punishing,” he said back, as though joking, but I felt the sickness of fear even more strongly. His free hand moved swiftly and cupped me between the legs.

  I struggled against his hold on my arm, but he was a man, single-minded and strong. And then I heard Hiram, from the porch, hollering, “Get away from her, you goddamned drunk! Them girls can’t turn tricks outside their houses.”

  The man cursed and set me aside, none too gently. He said, “I’ll come and find you there instead, whore.”

  My stomach was aching with cramps and I felt a rush of blood between my legs, soaking the binding I wore, but I straightened with determination; I could not falter now. One person in the wide world yet cared for me, and she was waiting even as I stood immobile. I prayed that he wouldn’t follow through on that statement, turning and again hurrying away.

  Once a whore, always a whore, Ginny’s voice said in my mind.

  “Lila! Lila, girl!” Hiram yelled after me, and I could hear his laugh, though I didn’t pause. Curious heads turned to observe Hiram as he hollered. “You owe me, girl!”

  The activity of the docks lessened as I moved west and away, back towards Ginny’s. Within minutes I could see the glow of the lanterns from the Grand Hotel, perhaps three blocks ahead. I was drained of all bravado at this point, and my heart was knocking at the prospect of sneaking unseen back into Hossiter’s.

  What if someone locked the side door?

  What if Ginny is there, on the stairs?

  I dropped the bag containing the tea then, my hands slippery with sweat.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, kneeling at once to retrieve it. My belly was aching with cramps and I remained bent over, collecting myself, holding the small bag against my palm. I tipped my forehead against my right knee as I willed away the sudden rush of dizziness. It was then I realized I was not alone.

  Dear God, he followed me.

  But it wasn’t who I thought. It was much, much worse than that. In the last instant I knew; my neck prickled horribly just as his fist closed over my upper arm and drew me forcibly to my feet.

  “Lila,” Sam said, and his fingers clenched into my flesh, turning me to face him. “I knew that was you near the river.”

  Run, get away, you can outrun him!

  My mind screamed at me, even as my legs were paralyzed by fear at the sight of his eyes. A roaring filled my head, almost obliterating his next words. He clutched my other arm and squeezed both tightly. He observed, “Does Ginny know you’ve strayed from home? That you’re giving it away for free on the docks?”

  “You bastard,” I heard myself gasp; I was so terrified by him that I had urinated a little, into my bindings already wet with blood. We were blocks from any streetlamps and I understood without being able to fully articulate it that all he need do was drag me into an alley to finish what he’d started last summer. No one to save me this time.

  He drew me to my toes then, bringing my nose nearly to a level with his. Same whiskey breath, same hatred bubbling from the depths of him. He raged in a whisper, “You whore, don’t you call me names. I’ll fucking kill you, like I shoulda killed you before.”

  Tears streamed over my cheeks; he was not blustering. He meant every word. His eyes drove furiously into mine and his fingers seemed to be clamping ahold of my bones, though he released my left arm to trace one finger over the scar on my cheek. He whispered, “I see I marked you good.”

  I moved with a sudden instinctive reaction, thinking of my brothers and how they would have disengaged from his clenching fingers. I jerked, rolling my arm into his thumb, imagining Dalton’s voice telling me what to do.

  Grip’s weak there, Lorie, that’ll break any hold. See, you did it!

  Now run, Jesus, Lorie, run!

  Chest heaving, I sidestepped him and turned to flee. Sam stumbled, but his grab connected with the back of my hair, which he held solidly, yanking my head. He kept his hand fisted there, twisting me around to face him again and I cried out.

  Fight him, Lorie, you can fight! Don’t be such a girl.

  I can’t fight, Dalty, I thought, dread closing its fist over me, even as Sam’s fingers spread out along my throat.

  “You can’t escape me, Lila,” he said, softly, almost tenderly.

  “Sam, for Christ’s sake,” said a new voice, approaching us from behind, and Sam’s upper lip curled even as he set me from him with a hard s
hove. I stumbled backwards and nearly fell, as another man emerged from the shadows, a man I recognized. It was the small, wiry, former soldier that everyone called Union Jack. He frequented Ginny’s, but I couldn’t remain here to wonder at their connection. Even if Sam fired shots from his pistol into my back as I ran, I would take that chance; better to die from a gunshot wound than at his hands. I lifted my skirts and fled.

  Within minutes I was breathless at Hossiter’s back door, leaning against the side of the building a split second before I realized he may have been in pursuit. But he was not; I was alone in the fully-dark night. With trembling fingers I eased open the door, even my fears of being confronted by Ginny paling in comparison to Sam Rainey. I needn’t have feared as it was; the hall and stairs were empty, both. The rollicking piano music became slightly less muffled as I climbed the stairs with the lightest of steps; two from the top, I paused to listen for telltale footsteps coming down the hall. When I heard no one, I flew to my room and closed the door behind me, then collapsed atop my bed.

  Deirdre came creeping in at dawn’s light, finding me asleep. I woke at her gentle touch, still fully clothed and wearing my boots; I’d not the energy to remove them last night. I blinked and regarded her through a haze in my mind, before saying, “I have it.”

  Her shoulders sank with relief and she kissed my forehead.

  “It’s here,” I whispered, unbuttoning my dress and extracting the bag. “She gave me instructions, and Deirdre…you may never conceive again, she told me.”

  Her eyes held mine, dark as ebony.

  “No matter,” she said. “Lorie, I can never thank you enough.”

  “Hold me,” I whispered, needing her arms about me. My limbs ached from shaking. I had finally dozed, if fitfully, less than an hour ago.

  She nodded, setting the small bag aside and curling around me. Her warmth comforted me, and she stroked my hair until at last my eyes drifted closed and I was able to claim another few hours of sleep.

  - 5 -

  “When will you use it?” I asked Deirdre later that morning, in the kitchen. We were alone, though still whispered.

  “Today, though I’ll have to feign illness. Ginny won’t question it, I’ve never taken sick, and Eva claims a headache every so often,” she mused. And then, “I opened it. It smells vile. I don’t know how—oh!”

  I had lifted one arm to run my fingers along my scalp, inadvertently displaying my upper arm, as the slippery sleeve of my dressing gown slid to my shoulder. Deirdre leaned forward and studied me with horror in her eyes; I lowered my arm and hugged myself, defensively.

  “What in the hell?” she demanded in a low voice. “What in the hell?”

  Closing my eyes, seeing his face on the backs of my eyelids, I whispered, “He grabbed me on the way back last night. It was Sam. He grabbed my arms.”

  Deirdre reached and lifted my sleeves gently, though with determination, and then she gasped. I needn’t be looking to know what she saw: the ugly blue-black bruising exactly resembling fingers on my flesh.

  “How did he…he hasn’t been in here in months!”

  “He must have seen me, followed me, I don’t know, I don’t know,” I whispered, tears gushing, streaking through my lowered eyelashes. “He would have killed me, I know it, but Union Jack was with him and reprimanded him.”

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry,” she said, crying too.

  I opened my eyes and clasped her hands tightly, determined to stop my tears. Tears helped nothing. I said, as much to comfort myself as anything, “But he didn’t. I’m safe.”

  Deirdre clung to me and whispered, “I can’t thank you enough for helping me, Lorie. I wish I was your sister, truly.”

  “I love you too,” I told her, comforted by her familiar scent. “Now we best boil you some water.”

  Betsy paid us little attention as we set the crockery teapot atop the woodstove, letting it heat. When it whistled, Deirdre collected the tray and two porcelain mugs, though I carried them up the steps for her, to the relative privacy of her room. Within it, she sank to the mattress and I set the tea tray behind her, then quietly perused her belongings, though I had seen them many times before. It gave me comfort to look upon the trappings, though meager, of a life that had been lived beyond these walls. Before she’d become a whore; small pieces of her soul, scattered and arranged about her room.

  Joshua, her husband, appeared as I opened the hinge on the oval-shaped frame that held his Federal Army tintype. She kept this, her only image of him outside of her memory, in the top drawer of her bureau, and I was familiar enough with both her and her space to look for it; he was young and handsome, staring into the camera with not so much as a hint of a smile. Across his lap lay his Springfield rifle.

  “He loved me,” she said in a sigh. “He did. Would that I still had him, oh God.”

  I shut the frame with great care and joined her on the bed. I knew better than to try and offer comfort, as there was none and words only aggravated that knowledge; a few of us who worked within these walls harbored such feelings about the memory of someone, whether a husband or mother, father or sibling. Someone who had once provided the unimaginable safety of unconditional love. There was none of that here, not amongst us. Eva was the only one who had never once mentioned a family, leading Deirdre to speculate, after Eva had slapped me over a high-paying customer my second week at Ginny’s, that Eva had risen from hell fully formed. Ginny too, I’d said.

  “Do you think I’ll go to hell now?” Deirdre asked quietly, as though sensing my thoughts. I shivered before I could catch myself. She sounded truly concerned, vulnerable.

  “No,” I said firmly. “That could never be possible.”

  “But what I’m doing is—”

  “Saving your child from a life of living hell,” I said softly, catching and holding her hands. Hers were pale and cold within mine, and I curled my fingers around them more securely. Her hands seemed so small and slight; I was used to the large, hard, callused hands of men.

  “You’re so warm,” she murmured. “Thank you, Lorie, for everything. You risked yourself for me, and you were hurt in the process. I’m so sorry.”

  Her dark hair was loose, soft over her slim, pale shoulders and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. I tucked a wayward curl behind her right ear. I said, “You’ll be all right. I’ll tell Ginny you aren’t feeling well, and I have yet two days of bleeding, perhaps three. I’ll wait on you. I’ll bring you cake in your bed.”

  She smiled a little at that, shaking her head.

  After a moment I whispered, “How did it happen?”

  Her lashes lowered as she said, low, “I don’t know, Lorie, I don’t. I use the butter so carefully, I never forget.” She closed her eyes tightly then, clinging to my hands. She whispered desperately, “If I was yet Joshua’s wife I would be such a good mother, I would. I would love this child and raise it to care for others, to be a kind human being. And it would have Joshua’s smile. He had such a sweet smile, Lorie, I can still see it plain though he’s been gone these many years.”

  “I know,” I told her, tears stinging my eyes. “I know.”

  “God will never give me another child,” she said decisively, punishing herself. “I feel it. This is my only child and I’m destroying it.” She laughed then, though it was a terrible sound. “I may tell myself I have no other choice.”

  Fear bubbled inside my stomach; I imagined her bearing a child in a whorehouse and shortly thereafter being forced out to live on the streets, though even life there would be preferable to Ginny’s; I felt ill at imagining what would be the child’s fate, should Ginny ever get her hands upon it. Better to starve on the streets than that. If I was brave enough, I would have taken that option myself, by now. Perhaps we could run away together…perhaps…

  “I’m sorry, Lorie, I’m being so macabre. I don’t mean a
nything by it. I know this is the right choice, though I’m frightened a little. It smells so pungent.”

  I lifted the small porcelain lid of the teapot, inhaling the steam that curled out. It did have an unpleasant musky tinge, of moldering plants crushed beneath others in an unkempt garden.

  “Shall I fetch honey?” I asked her.

  “No, I’ll drink it quickly and be done,” Deirdre said. “Has it steeped for a good half hour?”

  I nodded and she moved as though to pour herself a cup, but her hands were shaking.

  “Here, let me,” I told her, and performed the task.

  And then she drank.

  I lay on my mattress that evening, alone in the darkness, watching the moon decline west. It was so thin, nearly new, as though drawn upon the backdrop of the sky with the slash of a white ink. Soon it would disappear behind the rooftops. My door was tightly closed, though the boisterous activity from a night in full swing seeped through anyway. I had learned to tune out most of such noise; I no longer noticed Mary’s headboard thumping, scarce registered the songs Johnny played upon the piano. I had heard them all so many times my ears jangled if I paid attention too closely.

  Tonight I was simply grateful for the momentary peace afforded by bleeding; I lay still and silent, my ankles crossed, hearing the coyotes in the distance. Again something restless pulsed within me, fleeting and yet strong, a sense of something new on the horizon. Something just out of arm’s reach, though drawing nearer each day. I was startled by the feeling and shifted to my side, tucking both hands beneath my cheek. I was nearly asleep when I heard commotion in the hall outside my door.

  “Deirdre!” It was Ramie’s voice, pitched high in fear.

  My feet hit the floor and I ran to open the door, blinking as my mind tried desperately to counteract what I was seeing, to pretend that it wasn’t actually real before my eyes.

  “Oh no, oh God,” I moaned, dropping to my knees at once, my hands fluttering uselessly, too terrified to know where to light upon her. My voice was not my own as I cried, “Deirdre, what’s happening…what’s happening…”