Soiled Dove

by Brenda Adcock

Loretta was mildly surprised that Jo, who obviously led a secretive life, had entrusted her with her identity. She moved the table next to her bed and pulled up a loose floorboard. She dropped Jo’s card and the money into a small box hidden beneath the board. She should receive another fifty as her percentage of the money Jack had charged for her services. She was getting closer to her goal. Perhaps before the first of the year she would be able to leave this life behind.

  Chapter Three

  HETTIE TOBIAS READJUSTED her small brown valise in her hand while holding her wide-brimmed hat on her head with the other as she peeked down one side of the train platform and then the other. The covered area in front of the busy station in St. Joseph was overflowing with people milling around. Burly men in blue and gold uniforms labored to pull huge rolling carts with metal wheels, loaded with mail, supplies, and baggage down the length of the wooden walkway toward boxcars waiting to head north, south, east and west. St. Joseph was the entry point into the great unknown everyone simply referred to as the West. The accounts she had read in the Indiana newspapers regaled readers with what she suspected were heavily embellished stories of the golden plains of Kansas and the majesty of the mountains in the Colorado Territory and beyond.

  Always a bookish young woman, she had been rather thrilled when she received a reply to her query concerning a teaching position in the town of Trinidad in the southeastern corner of the Colorado Territory. Even though she lived a predictable and stable life in Germantown, Indiana, Hettie longed for adventure and the call of the west had been alluring.

  She took the hand offered to her by a smiling porter and stepped off the train. No matter how she had planned her trip there would still be a layover in St. Joseph, Missouri and she would have to use part of her savings to find a decent room for the next few nights. She had never traveled by train before and found the continual stopping and starting to load and unload passengers, freight, and mail exhausting.

  Every time she closed her eyes she was jolted awake by the shudder of the locomotive braking. It hadn’t been what she expected in the least and she hoped the remainder of her journey would be more pleasant.

  She cast a smile in the porter’s direction and walked carefully across the platform to avoid running into small children and harried adults. Despite standing on solid ground her body felt as if it was still in motion. She dusted off her skirt and pushed her spectacles back up onto her nose as she thought about where she should go next. Finally, she approached the ticket window and waited for the man behind the bars to look up. A black visor encircled his head and he finally peered up at her over his round framed glasses.

  “Can I help you, miss?” he asked as he set aside the paperwork he had been engrossed in.

  Hettie stepped closer with a slight smile. “My train west will not be leaving for a few days. Do you know of a nice but relatively inexpensive place nearby where I might find suitable lodging until then?”

  He scanned Hettie’s face and body from the waist up and said, “There’s a nice rooming house about two blocks from here. Mrs. Covington usually has an extra room and the price ain’t bad.”

  “And which direction might that be?” she asked stiffly. She needed a bath and a change of clothes. She had just spent two long days in a crowded, smelly passenger car, surrounded by any number of unsavory looking characters and crying children.

  The man leaned forward and stuck his hand between the bars to point to Hettie’s right. “That way two or three blocks. It’s a white two-story with a white picket fence. Two large bougainevillea in front.

  Can’t miss it.”

  Hettie turned to walk away, but paused for a moment. “I’m traveling from here to Trinidad in the Colorado Territory. Can you tell me how long that trip might take?”

  “Depends on how many times the train has to stop, but I’d count on at least three days. Maybe four.”

  “Four days!”

  “Could be three,” the man shrugged. “Lots of little towns have sprung up along the railroad right of way in the last few years. Course, the train only goes to Pueblo right now. You’ll have to take a stagecoach the last sixty miles or so.”

  “And what about my luggage?”

  “We’ll keep it locked up in here until your train arrives and then load it.”

  Hettie began walking toward the rooming house, her mind filled with thoughts. Possibly four more days crammed on a train car. God! What had she been thinking? She knew absolutely nothing about the people or the town she was traveling to. Calvin wanted to marry her. Why hadn’t she accepted?

  Because Calvin was boring. Just another farmer looking for a woman to cook and clean and bear children. She stopped and smiled to herself. She had read that families in the west were large, sometimes more than six children so they could grow up and help work their homesteads. But this would be an adventure. Hettie nodded in an attempt to convince herself. She stopped in front of the large two-story boarding house, took a deep breath, and made her way up the steps.

  “RETTA! WAIT UP!” Amelia called out. The puffiness on her bottom lip had gone down considerably, but the remnants of bruises remained around her eyes and there was only so much make-up could do.

  Loretta paused and looked in the window of the mercantile store a few blocks from Jack’s establishment. Some very nice material was on display in the window. She hadn’t seen it the last time she had been to the business district and it would make a beautiful dress.

  When Amelia reached Loretta, she was out of breath. Taking her by the arm, Loretta said, “Look, Amelia. Isn’t that cloth beautiful?”

  “I guess,” Amelia shrugged.

  “What’s wrong?” Loretta said, resting her parasol on her shoulder and twirling it as she smiled at the men passing them on the sidewalk.

  “I…I can’t do this anymore, Retta,” Amelia said.

  “Do what?”

  “You know what. How can you stand it? All those filthy, panting old men touching you and sweating all over you every night. It’s disgusting. I hate it,” the young woman frowned.

  “Jack has put you back as a bar hostess, Amelia.

  No one’s going to pant or sweat on you there. At least not as much.” Loretta looked around absently.

  “How can you do it, Retta?”

  Her eyes flashing, Loretta looked sharply at the younger woman. “I’m doing what I have to do, Amelia. Jack saved my life. I could have become a crib girl to survive instead. You think you’d like that better? Having men who have never had a bath in their miserable lives and willing to fuck anything half alive climbing into your bed for two bits?”

  “Well, I never thought…”

  “Don’t you ever judge me, girl, you hear. I almost have enough money saved to get out of here and not you or anyone else is going to take that away. If this is what I have to do for now, then I will. Once I leave here no one will ever know what I did in the past.”

  Amelia laughed. “Jack’ll never let you leave.

  You’re his woman and you know it.”

  “No one owns me, Amelia. Not Jack Coulter. Not anyone. Understand?” Loretta said forcefully.

  “But those men…what they want you to do to them…or do to you…,” Amelia shivered.

  “You have to shut it out of your mind and remember your goal, Amelia,” Loretta said gently as she patted the girl’s arm. “Now let’s go inside and look at that material.”

  It was true that Jack Coulter wanted his girls to look good both inside and outside his establishment.

  He considered himself a benevolent brothel owner, providing unreported medical care should any of his girls be beaten up, contract a disease or accidentally become pregnant. Considering that Loretta and the other girls serviced him for no charge in exchange for his medical treatment, she wasn’t sure “Doc”

  Southard was even a real doctor. Jack hired a seamstress to keep them all well clothed and provided more than enough food and drink for their comfort.

  He knew where his bread was
buttered, but he still didn’t countenance any back talk from any of them, including Loretta. It was also true she was his favorite and he rarely visited the other girls in his establishment. During the day Jack spent time with his wife and children, returning to his business only in the evenings. He was a handsome man with a smooth way of talking his way out of any situation and into any woman’s bed.

  Loretta knew she would have to keep Amelia from complaining very much. She had seen what happened when Jack lost his temper. It had been enough to keep Loretta in line more than once, no matter how much Jack enjoyed being in her bed. If Jack actually paid for her services she could have already been gone. Just a few more months, that was all she needed. The boost in her savings, thanks to the generosity of Jo Barclay the week before, brought her even closer to the realization of her plans to leave St Joseph. She didn’t trust the other girls enough to let them in on her plans and wished she hadn’t said anything to Amelia. The girl was obviously terrified and would do anything to save her own neck.

  Amelia and Loretta browsed through the mercantile, talking and giggling as they went. Loretta chose to ignore the glaring looks from the wife of the dry goods owner. Her money was as good as anyone else’s and she frankly didn’t care what other people in St. Joe said about her behind her back. She tried to resist, but kept returning to the material in the front window.

  “May I help you?” a shrill voice behind her asked.

  Smiling thinly at the woman’s severe face, Loretta said, “Yes, although I’m sure you’d rather not. How much is this material?”

  “Two dollars a yard,” the woman replied.

  “For everyone or just for me?”

  “It’s imported from Europe.”

  “For that price someone must have swam it over here on their back,” Loretta said, causing a giggle to escape from Amelia.

  “Wh…,” the woman began.

  “But it looks like a fabric befitting a lady,” Loretta said quietly. “I’ll take two yards. And make sure you measure it accurately, please. I wouldn’t want to have to return for more and upset your delicate sensibilities.”

  Loretta walked away as the woman pulled the bolt of fabric from the window and carried it toward a cutting table. She was muttering to herself as she unrolled the fabric from the bolt.

  “Excuse me,” a soft voice said, interrupting her mumbling.

  “What?” the storekeeper’s wife asked curtly.

  The tone of the woman’s voice startled Hettie and she took a step back.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. What can I do for you?” the storekeeper’s wife asked more pleasantly when she saw the bookish-looking woman staring at her.

  “Do you have any scented soaps here?” Hettie asked quietly.

  “Yes. We just received a new shipment a few days ago with some lovely new fragrances. Jasmine is a new one. Let me show you where they are.”

  Abandoning the bolt of material, the older woman led the way to the far end of the store.

  The owner of the mercantile stepped from the back storage room carrying a box of goods and set them on the counter. Loretta glanced up from the patterns on a nearby rack and smiled. Rounding the counter he walked up behind the diminutive young woman. “Find anything you like, Miss Loretta?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Why yes, I did, Hiram. Thank you.” Loretta smiled without looking at the older man. He was a familiar customer and having met his wife on a number of visits to his store she could see why he might look elsewhere for pleasure. “Your wife will be cutting some of that new material for me as soon as she gets around to it.”

  Hiram O’Toole glanced at the material lying on the cutting table. “That color will look wonderful on you. It matches you complexion,” he said. A ruddy blush made its way up his neck as Loretta turned toward him and curled her lips in a smile.

  “Why, thank you, Hiram. That was very sweet,”

  she said seductively, looking up at him. “Two dollars a yard is a little more expensive than I had planned for. Once it’s sewn, you’ll have to tell me how it looks on me.”

  “Two dollars?” Hiram asked, practically having to wipe drool from his lips.

  “Yes, that’s what Mrs. O’Toole said it would be,”

  Loretta said innocently.

  “Mrs. O’Toole was mistaken, Miss Loretta. It’s only one dollar a yard. If you’d like I would be happy to cut the length for you.”

  “That would be extremely kind of you, Hiram.”

  Loretta followed Hiram to the cutting table and watched as he measured out the two yards, plus a healthy extra half yard to ensure the cut was straight.

  As he smoothed the material over the table he glanced up occasionally and admired the soft curves and lines of Loretta’s body. He couldn’t afford to visit Jack Coulter’s establishment often, but when he did he always requested Miss Loretta.

  “What are you doing?!” Mrs. O’Toole’s shrill voice broke the relative quiet of the store.

  “I’m cutting this material for a customer, my dear,” Hiram said calmly.

  She lowered her voice as she walked up to her husband. “She’s a whore, Hiram O’Toole. She could have waited until respectable customers were taken care of.”

  Loretta bit her tongue and clenched her hand tightly around the handle of her parasol.

  “She’s a customer,” Hiram restated. “As far as I know her money is as good as anyone else’s.”

  Picking up the material, Hiram folded it and when he was sure his wife wasn’t looking, he cast a wink in Loretta’s direction. Loretta and Amelia followed him to the cash register, ignoring the daggers Mrs.

  O’Toole was sending their direction. Loretta took four bills from her purse and slid them across the counter toward Hiram.

  “But I said the material was…,” he began.

  “I don’t wish to cause a problem for you with your wife, Mr. O’Toole,” Loretta said.

  Sliding two dollars back toward her, he said, “The price I told you was the correct one, ma’am. I won’t have my wife cheating customers and giving my business a bad name.”

  “That’s very considerate of you, Hiram. You, indeed, are a true gentleman.”

  As Loretta picked up her package of material and turned to leave she almost ran into a young woman in her mid twenties wearing a conservative green dress and horn-rimmed glasses. “I’m sorry,” Loretta said, stepping aside.

  “Now where?” Loretta asked as she and Amelia stopped onto the boardwalk in front of O’Toole’s Mercantile.

  “I don’t know,” Amelia shrugged. “I don’t have any money of my own.”

  Linking her arm with Amelia’s, Loretta said,

  “How about I buy you a sarsaparilla?”

  “I’d like that,” Amelia said, smiling brightly.

  “Me, too,” Loretta said as they made their way through horses and wagon traffic on the dusty street toward a local eating establishment.

  Loretta slid into a booth and settled herself before taking a long draw on the straw of her drink. “Damn, this tastes wonderful.”

  “Better than whiskey,” Amelia said.

  They chatted for a few minutes, laughing and gossiping about some of their customers. Loretta was looking absently out the front window, when a voice broke into her thoughts. “Excuse me.”

  Loretta turned and saw the young woman she had seen not long before in the mercantile. “Yes. May I help you?”

  “May I join you for a few minutes?” the woman asked. “There don’t seem to be any other available seats.”

  Loretta stood and moved to Amelia’s side of the booth. “It’s your reputation, honey,” she smirked.

  The woman set a small package of soap on the seat and cleared her throat. “My name is Hettie Tobias.”

  “What can we do for you, Hettie Tobias?” Loretta asked, taking another sip of her drink.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear part of your conversation with that woman at the mercantile.”

  “Really,” Loretta
said, glancing at Amelia.

  “It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop, but I wanted to tell you I thought her behavior was reprehensible,”

  Hettie said indignantly. “For her to insinuate you were a…a whore was uncalled for.”

  “It’s the truth,” Loretta smiled. The look on Hettie’s face made her laugh. “Don’t worry, honey.

  I’m used to it.”

  “Well, I must say, you’re lovely and certainly don’t look like I would have imagined.”

  “What do you think a whore looks like?” Loretta asked, amused.

  “Retta!” Amelia hissed.

  “Excuse me. Wherever are my manners?” Loretta smiled. “My name is Loretta Digby and this is my friend, Miss Amelia Benson.” She paused for a moment before adding, “She’s new to the trade.”

  “Are you a..a…? Oh my. You can’t be more than a child,” Hettie managed.

  “Amelia is a hostess,” Loretta said.

  “I’m actually just passing through St. Joseph,”

  Hettie said, changing the subject rather abruptly. “I’m on my way west to teach at a small school.”

  “Congratulations,” Amelia said.

  “Thank you. I guess,” Hettie said. “I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Where you goin’?” Loretta asked.

  “Trinidad in the Colorado Territory.”

  “Oh, it’s real pretty there,” Amelia enthused. “At least that’s what I heard from a gentleman last month.”

  “Do you know anything about what it’s like in the west?” Hettie asked. “I mean, you must have met men and women from there.”

  “I have,” Loretta nodded with a frown. “The men are a fairly unwashed group. And a little…um…,”

  Loretta searched for the right word.

  “A little what?” Hettie asked with concern in her voice.

  “Um…eager, I guess. Many of them haven’t seen or smelled a woman in quite a while.”

  “Oh, God!” Hettie breathed, resting her forehead on her hands.

  “What made you decide to go west anyway?”

  Amelia asked.

  “The literature I’ve read makes it sound rather romantic. Running off to a completely different and unknown environment in the wilderness. Seeing things I would never see otherwise.”