by L. C. Son
“That was Mardi gras, Chartreuse. Merriment was plentiful. But these are hard times, girl. Tensions here in the once new world are at its peak. Shipments of port and mead from Britain have lessened and with talks of war brewing beneath the surface men look to places such as this for the small comforts we provide. Pillow and port.”
“Please, Mother!” Chalmette pleads, lifting her head from under my tight grip. “I’ll do whatever I must to earn my keep—but please, not Monroe! Please!” Chalmette’s words churn within me, sickening me to my core. Although tears drench her face, I am surprised by her sudden change of disposition. Against even my own will, she’s trying to take charge of her own fate. And while everything within me finds her posture impressive, I know she will yet regret her words.
“No, Chalmette!” I whisper, turning her reddened face to meet mine.
“It’s okay, Chartreuse. You can’t protect me forever,” she whispers back.
“Catherine, I’ll not let your wretched girls dictate the order of my house!” Monroe shouts in protest, staggering a few steps forward. “She will—”
“No, Monroe—you will not. Not this time,” Mother’s tone is strangely comforting. She looks over her shoulder at me and Chalmette and her eyes soften slightly. But it doesn’t last for long. Narrowing her gaze once more, she scrunches her nose and turns back to Monroe. “You mustn’t worry, dearest. Chalmette will agree to the house rules. She will work.”
“Ha! That she will!” He grumbles, gritting his teeth and spitting on the ground. I push Chalmette behind me against the bedframe as I watch him take needful steps toward us.
Again, Mother places her hand at his chest, circling around him to get his focus off me and my sister. “Yes, beloved, she will work—but not with you. She has made a vow and she intends to keep it,” she begins as she looks over her shoulder at us with an ominous glare filling her face. Worry grips me, fearing Mother’s next words. Chalmette thrusts her sweaty palm into mine, and I know she too worries what follows. “It’s been years since we had an auction and bidding. Men will pay handsomely to be with a virgin as lovely as Chalmette.”
“Mother, no!” I gasp. While I know I shouldn’t be shocked, I can’t help it. How could she suggest such a thing?
“Yes,” Monroe cackles with a malevolent grin as he scratches the stubble along his chin. “The lot of them paid generously for Marietta and she isn’t even a looker not to mention wasn’t a virgin. But they bought it. You are a genius, Catherine! I’ll get Marius to make papers to post over town. They’ll come from miles over for this sweet one.”
“Please, no!” I protest once more, holding Chalmette deep in the cavity of my chest as tears soil my face.
“You should be happy girl. Now some wealthy pauper will have the honor. Unless you’d rather it be me? But if this doesn’t work for any reason, girl—it will be me!” Monroe smirks, exiting my sister’s suite.
Chalmette drenches my shoulder with her tears, screaming into my neck as she does. More water floods my face, but I keep my sights on my mother. Just when I thought I couldn’t loathe her more, my disgust of her reaches a new low. She is no longer my mother. In fact, she hasn’t been for some time. For years, I only saw her as victim to incidence gone awry, but no more. She is not a victim. A pawn, perhaps, but she is still well in control of her path and that of our own.
But no more.
Although I am unsure how, I will see to it that her control ends today.
Walking to the threshold of the door, she turns back to face us, this time her countenance is stoic. “Be sure she is cleaned up and presentable by the evening hour. And fix yourself up too. You are still required to work tonight as well. That is, if anyone will have you. Should you need anything, I—”
“We need nothing from you, Catherine! We never have.” My words strike her heart just as I intended. Her eyes bulge at my sentiment and I know she is surprised. I have always done my best to hold her in some manner of esteem—even if it was minimal. Now, at this moment, it is all forfeit.
Rising from my side, Chalmette quickly paces to the door and slams it shut in her face. Screaming once more, she buckles at her knees and cries against the doorframe. Rushing to her aid before she topples to the ground, I take her in my arms and hold her tight.
“I’ve got you, dear sister. I promise now and always, I will never let you fall. Ever.”
Chapter Two
Chalmette wept in my arms for almost an hour before drifting asleep. It pains my heart to see her in such despair that I almost hate to leave her, but I must. Once more, I must try to find my wretched sister, Victoria. While I know she wants nothing to do with our mother or this life, I have hope that perhaps an ounce of kindness toward our young sister remains.
Although Chalmette is not our father’s child, but a product of our mother’s carelessness when we first arrived in Natchitoches, I do not care any less for her than if she were indeed my father’s seed. And yes, while Monroe did take us in while my mother carried Chalmette in her womb, it didn’t stop his depraved intentions toward her while she was yet pregnant.
The thought of the two of them alone sickened Victoria. Of course Monroe had his sights on her from the beginning, but to my knowledge he never made any attempt to ruin her. I suppose he was waiting for her to come of age. But he was too late. Victoria was more shrewd than he calculated. One night a newly widowed banker came into the tavern named Cassius LaSalle. Beaming her infectious smile from ear-to-ear and adorning her newfound womanly curvaceousness, he was soon lost to her lure. Even though he was twenty years her senior, she did not care. Nor did he. After paying Mother and Monroe a handsome amount, the two were wed within weeks.
While my mother seemed almost happy to see her daughter not bound to our plight, Monroe grew more callous. I reckon that is why when he mounted me for the first time, he swore that he’d ensure no man would want me as a wife. “You won’t get away from me like your sister did,” he breathed into my ear as he rutted through me.
Mournful tears scoured my face as the stench of his sweat curdled like sour milk in my nostrils. He was unforgiving as he took my innocence. If I am thankful for anything it is that he couldn’t last more than ten minutes. But it was ten minutes too long. Every minute with him was like an hour.
For years I imagined I too would meet someone like Cassius, but my fantasy never came to be. A small part of me believes Monroe soured my reputation. From the looks men gave me days after he took me, I am sure of it. It didn’t take long before he had men lined at my door to partake of me. I barely needed to come out of my room to fish for bait as Corrine calls it.
Some nights five men. Some nights ten. One of the worst was a private party for a bachelor. The sickening things they did to me and had me do to them had me in tears. The more I cried, the more lustful they became.
But that night something strange happened. I stopped crying. Somehow I willed myself to a deeper corner of my mind. Happier memories of my departed sister, Calida, reading to me. The stories she told me of fearless women warriors raided my mind. Joan of Arc and the goddess Isis were my favorite legends. Fond thoughts of Calida telling me a man’s greatest enemy is a woman with her own mind, lingered in my soul. I knew then there was one thing I could control. My mind.
As the men took turns having their way with me, I began shifting how I saw myself. It was mother’s weak mind and victim mentality that has brought us to such a state. I would not be a victim. I would control my fate.
That night was the last night I would be treated that way.
When I awoke the next day, I declared I’d take my womanhood into my own hands. I took the day bathing myself, primping, and preparing for the evening. I even sent Marius out with papers of my requirements. It turns out men of moderate means appreciated my proactiveness. They knew what they were getting for the evening. I even made provisions for things I’d not do—acts I found too vile to perform.
Seeing the need to protect m
yself further, I made a familiar out of one gentleman caller, named Scotty. For a fair price and consensual favors, Scotty agreed to be my doorman. Should anyone get too handsy with me or not adhere to the rules of my boudoir, Scotty will handle them for me. A butcher by day, his brawn, muscular frame is intimidating to most.
Scotty and I have a decent arrangement. He treats me civilly, which is more than I could ask of most men.
Then there is Sincade DeLuca. My friend. Sent by his boss Ripley to partake of me as payment for what Monroe owed him, it was clear on the first night we met, the thought of it all was almost an insult to him. Although most only see DeLuca as a lower-class gypsy, I see the potential of a potentate briming beneath his otherwise low profile and mild demeanor.
“We are not doing this,” were the first words DeLuca spoke when he came into my suite. He never gave me a chance to protest. Seating himself at my desk and tossing two dice on the Game of Snake board. We played the game for well over an hour until Monroe came pounding on the door. DeLuca told me to scream loud, feigning we were still busy as DeLuca playfully banged his hand on the wall near my bedframe.
I knew I gained a friend in him, but I was still strangely curious why he didn’t want me. Simply, he told me, “If one is found in a tragic circumstance, it is a travesty if one in a similarly detrimental state should take advantage of their equal while in such a heartrending state.”
DeLuca’s words comforted my heart that day and nothing has changed since that day. Although my friend is quite a handsome catch, I’ve never seen him through romantic eyes, nor has he made an advance as so. He sees me as his equal as do I him.
Still, what I do desire is not an equal, but not necessarily someone better. I want the best.
I deserve it.
“What are you doing here, Treuse!” I hear Victoria shout over the fence as I wait outside her manor, breaking me from my reminiscent thoughts. With the sun nearing its departure, I know I am likely disturbing her supper, but I need her help now. “I couldn’t believe it when my doorman told me you were outside. You know better than to come here!”
“Listen, Victoria, I know you do not care to see me, but our sister—”
“Half-sister.”
Swallowing her disregard down my throat, I rush to continue. “Chalmette needs your help. If she could but be a serving girl or aid in some manner around your home, I know she would be helpful to you. Please do not allow such a life to be her fate! Please, I beg of you!”
Victoria stares at me, contemplative. I sense an inner battle brewing within her, but her defiant stance makes any bouts of empathy difficult. I’m surprised to see her wearing her auburn tendrils against her face. My staunch sister normally prefers her hair upswept into a lofty bun. Still, she keeps her face set opposite of me as though she hated to look me in the eye. I suppose my harlotry repulses her. I wish she knew how equally repulsed I am, and it is for that reason I do not wish for this to be our young sister’s undoing.
“You needn’t beg me anything, Chartreuse. I cannot help her,” Victoria answers as her eyes gaze down the dusty red road, likely hopeful no one sees her with me. While my sister has always been stubborn, there is something more reining her in.
“Cannot or will not? Which is it, dear sister?” I counter. I am running out of time—and options. If she will not help me, I need to strategize something else to aid Chalmette.
“It does not matter which it is—the answer is most assuredly no!” Victoria snaps back.
“Victoria!” I hear her husband call to her from their stately covered porch. “Come inside! Supper will not make it to the table by itself.”
“Coming dear,” she hurriedly replies over her shoulder, forcing a bright smile. As she does, her reason for not helping me becomes evident. She needs just as much help as both me and Chalmette.
“Sister!” I gasp, grabbing her chin in my hand, pushing aside her long curls. Although she’s tried to conceal it with powder, the bluish bruise encircling her right eye, tells me all I need to know. “What has he done to you?” I demand, bringing her face close to my own.
“It’s nothing, Chartreuse!” Victoria grits through her teeth, pushing my hand away and out of my grip. “Now, please—go,” she says in a quiet rebuke. A free fall of tears race down her cheeks and she wipes them away, exhaling deeply, forcing herself to regain her posture. “And please, Chartreuse, do not return.”
Turning sharp on her heel, she brushes her hair back to her face, squares her shoulders and walks down the long cobblestone pathway back to her home. I can only imagine the long walkway will give her time enough to gather herself before facing her brutish husband.
And while I never imagined it were possible, my heart breaks for her. All this time I only saw her as the sister who left us while she moved on to a better life. Now I see her life is not as enviable as I once imagined. She may not be captive to a brothel as am I, but she is certainly a prisoner of the brutality of humanity.
Perhaps the eligibility of salvation has evaded both Victoria and I, but there is still a chance for Chalmette.
Racing back to the tavern, tears cloak my sight as the strings of my heart pull for me and my sisters. Everything in me wants to rush into Victoria’s home and teach a lesson to her brute of a mate, but I know I cannot delay getting back to Chalmette before her life is equal to my own.
Monroe will likely raise the price of the bar as he parades the house girls around with Chalmette center stage. With the stench of bourbon lacking their beards, they’ll salivate at the sight of my lovely sister. If my mother gave anything of worth to her daughters, it is an enviable frame. Chalmette is well-endowed for such a petite stature. With rounded hips and a backside as taut as mine, Monroe is sure to have more than a few generous biddings to have the honor of being her first. Chalmette’s angelic face, dusty rose lips and curvaceous figure could seal her fate for the worst if I don’t make it to her in time.
“Red!” DeLuca screams my name from the steps of the Tavern as I round the corner. While I am surprised to see him here, I don’t have time to talk to him. As much as I wish I could bury my head in his chest, sobbing in his arms as I’ve done countless times before, I haven’t the time for it now.
“Not now, DeLuca! I have to get to her—Monroe is doing it—tonight!” I squeal through my waterlogged eyes.
“I know, Chartreuse. I know. Marius came by with the postings. That’s why I am here. I came to help,” he answers, gently grabbing my shoulders in his firm grip and preventing my entry. Stepping up to meet his assured gaze, the pacing of my heart slows, and I wonder what kind of help he hopes to give.
“Help?” I question, curious of his intent. “How so? I doubt Monroe will fall for the same ruse as he did on our first night together. He’s grown quite callous since then.”
“No ruse, Chartreuse. Something better.”
“Better? Look, DeLuca, I really don’t have time for this!” I say, pushing past DeLuca up the stairs.
Grabbing my wrist he turns me back to him, granting his normal cagey grin. “Claudius DeVeaux!” He grunts as if the name alone were an explanation.
“What? I don’t understand. What does that little brat of a newsboy have to do with anything?”
“Claudius is the answer, Red. He fancies her!” His answer is almost resolute.
“How does that help her tonight, DeLuca?”
“Listen, he was with me when Marius brought the postings. The lad’s face went pale when he read of Monroe’s plans for her.”
“Well, just because he’s been sniffing her like fresh cut roses since they were both ten doesn’t mean Monroe will have some change of heart.”
“He will if there’s money to be gained.”
“Do you mean to tell me Claudius desires to be her first? Does he plan to bid? I mean even if he tried to enter the bidding, he’d need a considerable amount to even be with her tonight. Besides, even though I know the two have flirted, I don’t suppos
e he’s quite who she envisioned for her first time. I mean the boy is tad on the doughy side, not to mention he’s a bit of a dullard.”
“You don’t understand, Treuse! This isn’t about how cheery he is. He wants to marry her!”
“Marry her?” I gasp at his reveal.
“Yes, you heard me.”
At his words, my thoughts wander back to Victoria. While almost anything seems better than life as a woman of night, seeing Victoria today reminds me marriage is not necessarily the answer either. And though my sister seems entertained at his flirtations, I’m not convinced she fancies the two of them a pair.
“I—I don’t know, DeLuca. What if she doesn’t want to marry him?”
“Would you rather her be subject to Monroe or this life a day longer?”
“I would rather it be her decision. But not like this! I can’t bear to see another sister a hostage of matrimony.” The latter words mutter through me as thoughts of Victoria’s bruised eye flashes through my mind. DeLuca regards me with concern, but he makes a choice not to push me for an explanation and for that I am thankful.
“Well, I reckon the decision will be made soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“While on the surface it appears Claudius is a mere newsboy, I discovered his father, Corbin, runs the printing press in town. His father, however, insists he learn the business from the ground—hence his errand boy reputation. He has told his father of his affection for Chalmette and asked his permission to propose.”
“Propose?”
“Yes—propose, dear one. Of course, his proposal carries with it a rather sizeable dowry. I am sure both Monroe and your mother should be amenable.”
