by Debra Samms
There was another shotgun blast, this time fired by one of the other men standing with William – and this time right over the heads of the men. "You heard him," said Mr. Mitchell, the camp boss, lowering the weapon. "Go on back. Stay away from this road from now on, unless you get permission first. And you will continue to stay away from the housing road at all times."
Growling and glaring, the men began to back away. "What did we do wrong?" Molly heard one of them say. "Didn't these females come up here for us?"
"What did they expect?" said another. "Do they want husbands or not?"
"Do they want men? Or do they want little Eastern schoolboys?"
"We'd better be allowed into the saloons, as usual! Or there's going to be hell to pay!"
Finally the loggers were all gone, moving back down through the trees to the camp. Molly left the tree and ran to the wagon train where William and Mr. Mitchell and a few other armed men from the town stood beside the wagons.
"Oh, my dear God," whispered Molly, as she ran over and held her husband's arm. "This is all of them? All fifty that we were expecting?"
"I think so," he answered. He and Molly began walking along the line of four covered wagons. Every one of them held was at least a dozen women sobbing in each other's arms.
Molly sighed. She felt for them – that scene with the men charging the wagons must have been terrifying – but it was clear that they'd had no idea what they were in for out here in Sawyerville. They'd have to toughen up pretty quickly . . . or they may as well go back home right now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The wagon train started moving again. This time, instead of going to the livery stable and the Frost Mercantile to have the supplies unloaded as it normally did, the wagons made their way up to the highest road where the houses were built. At the far western end of the road, right above the livery stable and its corrals, was the very large boarding house that had been specially built for the new brides. It had a lower level consisting of a large dining room and parlor with a kitchen and workroom attached, and the two floors up above it would hold a total of one hundred women in fifty separate rooms.
Molly was immensely proud of the building, which had become known as the Sawyerville Ladies' House. She'd had a hand in the design and in the details, and was thrilled that the brides had finally arrived to occupy it. But right now she just wanted to get them inside and make some attempt at getting them all calmed down.
"Just go up and find a room – any room you like," she called out, as the women slowly climbed down from the wagons and cautiously looked around them. "You can stay two to a room, or take one by yourself. We have the space right now."
But they were all still sniffling and shaking, and some were openly sobbing. "What kind of town is this?" one said, looking around at the handful of wooden buildings that comprised the residential row.
"Well, all the businesses are right down below us on the main road," said Molly, trying to sound as cheerful as she could. "That's very convenient. But living up here gives us some privacy at the same time."
"Are all those men living down there on the main road, too?" said another, sounding more angry than frightened.
"No. The men live in the camp. That's down below the business road, down on the hillside towards the river. They've all been ordered to stay down there, so as long as you stay up here you've nothing to worry about."
Molly began guiding them all of the women inside the boarding house. "Here's the parlor. We're going to have a grand front porch built, just as soon as we can. And I love this wonderful dining room – so much space, and we have enough place settings for everyone! Now, up the stairs, you will see that there is – "
But none of the women were listening to her. They only talked among themselves as they started dragging their traveling bags and trunks up the stairs. "Those men treated us like animals. Like cattle!"
"They behaved worse than animals."
"Did they think this was a bawdy house being built up here? Is that what they were really expecting?"
"They certainly acted like it! They seemed to think we were – we were anything but respectable women!"
"I don't think I'll ever go outside of this house."
"I don't think I'll ever go outside of my room!"
***
For the following week, Molly and two of the four other married women of Sawyerville – Mrs. Mitchell, the wife of the camp boss, and Mrs. Frost, who operated the mercantile with her husband – made every effort to welcome the new prospective brides and make them feel comfortable in their new surroundings.
Under Molly's supervision, the women of the Sawyerville Ladies' House all took turns doing the cooking and washing for their new communal home, and with fifty women living in it there was plenty to keep them all busy. That helped somewhat to take their minds off of the drastic change that had come into their lives, and off of the traumatic start they'd had to life in a logging town.
After three days had passed, Molly asked all of the women to meet in the large parlor downstairs so that she and Mrs. Frost and Mrs. Mitchell could speak to them.
"I thank you all for your attention now," Molly said. "I hope that you are beginning to find Sawyerville a bit more pleasant."
She was met with only stony silence and cold stares. A couple of the women in the back began sobbing quietly, but Molly quickly went on before it could spread.
"Now, all of you were promised husbands. And I assure you, there are plenty of men here who want wives. When I myself – "
"These men don't want wives!" said one of the women. She was a slender, pretty, and outspoken blonde named Delilah Marie Michaels. "They want – they want – "
"Saloon girls," said another.
"Fancy women."
"Soiled doves!"
Molly closed her eyes. "I know what you're saying. But let me assure you: They want to marry. They've said so. And no man marries a saloon girl, no matter what they say."
The girls started to object again, but Molly kept talking. "I myself met my husband through a notice in the Matrimonial Times. I married him the day I arrived at Fort Lapwai in the Idaho Territory.
"But we have arranged things a bit differently out here. Because there is such a great number of men who want brides – and because we wanted to bring women here as soon as possible – we did not take the time to have you write letters back and forth in hopes of getting a proposal. We brought you here straightaway and figured you'd meet the right man after that.
"So. Meet them you must, and meet them you will."
The women all glanced at each other, and then looked at Molly with great suspicion. "We're not going down into that camp," one of them said, and the rest quickly joined in. "Never in the camp! Never!"
Molly held up both of her hands. "No. You will not go into the camp. We don't go down there, either." She looked at Mrs. Frost and Mrs. Mitchell, who both nodded.
"Our work, and our place, is up here," said Mrs. Frost. "It's true that there are two women in the camp. They are the wives of two of the cooks. They live and work right there and the rest of the men are accustomed to seeing them."
"And they are safe?" asked one of the girls, clearly skeptical.
"Well, you see," said Mrs. Mitchell, apparently hoping to lighten the mood a bit, "both of the cook's wives carry their own pistols at all times. So do their husbands, who work right alongside them. And if nothing else, all of those men in the camp know how foolish it is to offend anyone who's preparing your food."
There was only dead silence in the room.
"All right, then," Molly said. "First, to set your minds at ease, my husband – Sheriff Strong – has ordered that there be armed guards around this house at night."
The women seemed to be slightly reassured by that. "And so," Molly went on, "beginning tomorrow afternoon, we will bring up just a few men at a time – perhaps five or six – for a tea. It will be held right here in this parlor."
"Tea!"
"Here?"
"In this parlor?"
"No! Not one of those men in this house. Not one of them!"
"Now, now," Molly said, raising one hand. "As I said, there will be only a few of them. And there will be armed guards about."
When the women continued to protest, Molly raised one hand again and raised her voice as well. "Listen to me!" she cried, and waited until the noise subsided. "I can only tell you that if you refuse to meet any of these men, you will have no choice but to return home. You are here because you agreed to be brides, even if you were not promised to a particular man before you left. Do you understand me?"
The women all frowned, but then nodded. "Yes," said Delilah. "We understand. Some of us will be down for tea tomorrow. But at the first sign of trouble, we're right back upstairs again with our doors bolted."
"Fair enough," said Molly. "Tomorrow at three o'clock, then."
The young women all got up to leave, talking and whispering among themselves as they went up the stairs to their rooms. "At least they agreed to meet a few of the men tomorrow for the tea," said Mrs. Frost. "It's a start!"
"I'll try to get my husband to have those men clean up," said Mrs. Mitchell. "Swim in the river first, if nothing else. Maybe put on clean clothes, if they have them. Even a clean shirt would help."
Molly sighed. "I think the idea of armed guards around the house reassured them the most. And in all honesty, I'm not sure whether the guards are to keep the men from coming in or to keep the women from running away."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The following afternoon, as the hour approached three, Molly hurried around the Ladies' House with Mrs. Frost and Mrs. Mitchell to get the parlor ready for the tea.
They had exactly one lace tablecloth between them, so they used that in the center of one of the long dining tables and arranged the saucers and cups – which had been assembled from different sets of china and so had all different patterns on them – atop the lace, along with little dishes of ground loaf sugar and small pitchers of the cream specially bought from the dairy that morning.
There was even a white china vase with pink, white, and yellow mountain wildflowers in it.
Molly looked at the nicely set table and tried to feel hopeful. "It looks very pretty, ladies," she said, to her two companions and helpers. "Let's try to keep our hopes up. A tea can be a very good way to make introductions. And we'll be here to help."
At last the young women of the house came down the stairs and sat primly in the chairs near the nicely set table. There were fourteen of them in all, and Molly continued to feel hopeful.
"That's a good number," Mrs. Mitchell said to her, as they stood waiting near the door.
"It is," said Mrs. Frost. "If these women are able to meet a few men and have it go well, they'll tell the other women. Soon this room will be full!"
"And then," Molly said, "we can look forward to nothing more difficult than planning weddings. Many, many weddings!"
Suddenly there was a heavy knock on the front door of the Sawyerville Ladies' House.
All of the women in the parlor stopped and froze and looked at each other. "I'll – I'll get it," said Molly, and walked towards the front door.
She knew that William and a couple of other armed men were keeping an eye on the house and on the men who'd been invited to tea – but it was up to her and the other two married women to see that things went well inside the parlor.
Molly smoothed her cotton dress and clean apron and then opened the door. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said, and stepped back to let them in.
Slowly, suspiciously, five men walked inside the parlor. Molly was dismayed to see that they looked exactly the same as they always did while working or while living in the camp. All of them wore the typical heavy work pants held up by suspenders. Four had a heavy work shirt under the suspenders, but one actually wore his red flannel union suit instead of a shirt. Thick boots with spikes in the soles completed the outfit.
And as they stood together inside the room, it was clear that not one of them had so much as washed his hands before coming up here. Their hair fell in greasy strands over their faces, and their clothes were stained with sweat and grime. The stench that began to fill the parlor was like nothing Molly had ever encountered. The women standing along the wall began to turn their faces away and put handkerchiefs over their noses.
But Molly was determined to go through with this. Such niceties as bathing could be dealt with later. "Gentlemen, thank you for coming!" she said, in her brightest voice. "Won't you please sit down at our table?"
But the men ignored her. Instead, they stood and stared at the women who huddled increasingly closer to each other along the far wall, and looked them up and down like livestock they intended to buy at auction.
Again, Molly stepped forward. "Gentlemen – "
"Not bad," said one of the men, as they continued to eye the women. "Broad in the beam. Nice bowsprits."
"Smooth from stem to stern," said another one, and they all gave a deep rumbling laugh while watching the huddled women.
"Gentlemen!" Molly said again, louder this time. "Let us begin by having you introduce yourselves to these ladies."
The men scowled and looked at each other, and finally looked at Molly. "Can't they tell us their names?" one of them said. "They don't need to know ours until the weddin' day. We're doing the picking. Not them."
Molly's temper flared, even as all the girls wailed. "What's your name?" she said, returning the man's cold glare.
He was very tall and was all muscle, as they all were, and had both dark hair and cold blue eyes. "I'm not marryin' you," he said, almost laughing. "Nobody needs to know my name unless they're marryin' me or payin' me. And you're not doin' either one."
Molly stepped forward and stood toe-to-toe with him, trying not to inhale. But she did look straight up into his greasy, dirt-streaked face. "This is my house you're standing in," she said, loudly and clearly. "What is your name, sir?"
His eyes became even colder. "Beast Bradley," he said, practically spitting the words.
"Thank you, Mr. Bradley." Molly turned away from him and started towards the next man in line. "And you – "
"Beast Bradley!"
Molly looked back to see one of the women – a petite and pretty blonde named Delilah – staring at the man that Molly had just spoken to. "Delilah? Do you already know this man?"
"I know about him," she said. "And his name isn't Mr. Bradley. It's Mr. Fisher. Bradley Fisher."
The man stared hard at Delilah, but she went on talking. "I remember hearing about him when the men came to Manchester to sign us for this trip. They spoke of some of the men here. This one is a river rat. He walks on the logs as they float in the river and pushes them apart with a pole so they don't get into a jam."
"Well, well," said Bradley. "You've got quite a memory, little girl. But you're not quite right about me. I do walk on the logs and drive them with that pole. But I do it while drinking more than any man alive. I can stay awake for days and then sleep for days, and not even notice. And – "
"And it's not a good day if you haven't walked a hundred logs or fought five men to a standstill. Or both." Delilah raised her chin. "Yes, Mr. Fisher. I remembered that, too."
He began to grin, though his eyes were still cold. "So, what's your name? Delilah, I think this other one said? Delilah what?"
But she only looked away and then hurried back to the wall to stand with the other young women, as though her newly found courage had suddenly vanished.
Bradley snorted. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Not good enough for any of you, are we?"
The men all looked at each other. "That's what we thought," said another of them. "You don't like us the way we are. We'd have to change to before any of you would give us the time of day. But you sure don't have to change for us, do you?"
Bradley looked at Delilah again. "I'll be back for you," he said.
She raised her head and looked at him, but took another ste
p back towards the other women.
"I'll be back when I've had enough to drink. Which will be never."
With that, all of the men turned and left. Their spiked boots left big scratches and holes in the new wooden floor.
Mrs. Frost stood with Molly and Mrs. Mitchell, and sighed. "I suppose it's not a total loss," she said. "We've still got fifty women and several hundred men to go. How bad can it be? Things are certain to turn around eventually, with odds like that."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The very next morning, Molly arrived at the Sawyerville Ladies' House to find ten of the women walking down the front steps with their bags and trunks and throwing into the back of the covered wagon in front of the house.
"Oh, no, no!" she cried, hurrying over to them. "What are you doing? Please tell me you are not leaving!"
One of the ten women – a small brunette named Ellie Benson – dropped her leather traveling bag over the rear gate of the wagon and turned to face Molly. "I could tell you we weren't leaving, Mrs. Strong," Ellie said. "But that would not be true."
"Please, I beg you," Molly said, catching hold of Ellie's arm. "Please reconsider! It took you so long to get here, and you've barely stayed a fortnight! Surely you would not leave so soon. You've hardly given it a chance!"
Carefully, Ellie withdrew her arm, and picked up another bag. "That's right. We've been here a fortnight. And that's fourteen nights too long."
"Oh, but please – look at this fine house that's been built for you! Aren't you comfortable here? Is there anything else you want? We'll get you anything you might need, I promise!"
"It's a fine house, that's true," said Ellie. "It makes a fine prison. And that's a fine thing, because we don't dare set foot outside of it." The next bag tumbled over the tailgate and into the wagon.
"But assuming we did marry one of those awful men," Ellie went on, "we wouldn't be living in this fine house any longer. We'd be living in the mud and filth of a little tent down in that – that camp."
