What Heals the Heart

by Karen A. Wyle

  Finch walked over to a barrel where the piss smell came from. “This hide’s been soaking long enough. Next step is to scrape it. You could use that table to lay it out, and set yourself on the stool, but you’d have to stand up to reach some of it.” He looked Tom up and down. “Seeing as you’re here, and I don’t see a wagon that could’ve brung you, I guess you can manage it.

  “I’ll pay you eighty-five cents a day, Sundays off. Deal?”

  Eighty-five cents was better than nothing. And it wasn’t as if Tom was all that much help on the farm. But there were times Pa and Billy could use a hand. “When things get busy on the farm, I’d want to take another day now and again. Deal?”

  Finch chuckled. “All right, deal for now. If you need more time than I can spare, we’ll see if we can go on with each other somehow, or no. Anyone expecting you at home real soon?”

  If they were, they’d know where to come look. “No, sir. I can get to work. You want I should get that hide out?”

  Finch took down two aprons from a hook in the wall and tossed one to Tom. The toss could’ve been aimed better, but Tom managed to catch it. “I’ll show you how to lay it out and what tool to use. Then it’s all yours.”

  Smell and all.

  Chapter 2

  Jenny climbed the stairs trying to look carefree, in case any of the other girls was watching. Not much point to it — they all knew. It was never good news if Madam Mamie called you up to her office. If she was pleased with you, she’d come and find you and give you a kind word or a side-hug or maybe a cash bonus. The office was for scolding a girl, or even warning her that she’d come to her last chance and might be out on her ear soon.

  Jenny had a pretty good idea what the trouble was. It wore a fancy frock coat, smoked cigars too smelly for what they cost, and had looked down his nose at her when he left that afternoon.

  Mamie’s door was open, but as soon as Jenny showed up, Mamie waved her in, stood up, and closed it. Jenny’s belly went cold. Would Mamie kick her out, just because one client didn’t find her as much to his taste as he’d reckoned? Where could she go? The sheriff would never let her walk the street for customers, even if she could stand to do it.

  Mamie grabbed Jenny’s shoulder and steered her into the chair close to Mamie’s desk. “Sit down, girl. And don’t look so petrified. You’re not in that much trouble. You just need reminding of some things.” Mamie sat back down at the desk, thumped her elbows on it, and leaned forward. “In fact, I bet you can tell me what those things are.”

  Jenny knew she must have a sour-looking pout on her face as she recited, “Make the gentleman feel welcome. Follow his lead, unless he don’t know what he’s doing. Make him feel special. Laugh at his jokes —”

  “Which is not the same as telling jokes of your own, now, is it? It is especially important to avoid coarse humor. Our patrons do not consider themselves to be coarse individuals. And you should have learned better than to use slang expressions to our more refined gentlemen.”

  Jenny stuck out her lip. “Why’d he pick me if I’m so common, then?”

  Mamie got her I shouldn’t have to explain this look. “Probably because he knew that all my girls are supposed to have some class. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied —”

  Jenny tossed her hair. “Oh, he sounded satisfied enough to me. He bellowed like a hog!”

  Mamie stood up behind her desk, leaned over it, picked up the nearest bit of Jenny’s hair, and gave it a sharp tug. “You know that’s not what I’m saying. You didn’t just leave a customer dissatisfied with the quality of our service, you damaged my reputation by doing it.” She did a double take, looking at the hair. “Right here, this is part of the problem. That color looks cheap. You’d have done better leaving it brown.” She turned the strands of hair this way and that. “On the other hand, now that it’s lighter, you could . . . how’d you like to go red? Plenty of men consider red hair exotic, and even believe red-haired women are more passionate by nature.”

  Jenny tried to remember what she’d heard about turning hair red. “Do you mean henna? Won’t it rub off or nothing?”

  Mamie let go of Jenny’s hair, sat back down, and tapped her long fancy fingernail on the desk. “No henna for my girls. We’d use the latest dye, that I ordered a while back from a factory in Massachusetts.” Prob’ly like what Mamie used herself. Jenny had to admit Mamie’s hair was a prettier blonde than Jenny had managed. “I figured I’d be wanting a redhead sooner or later, if one didn’t wander in. Of course, dye like that is expensive. You’d have to share the cost.”

  That would mean a smaller payment for every customer until she paid off however much Mamie wanted out of her. But what choice did she have? After she’d gone and ticked off that stuffy old coot, she had better do whatever would make sure Mamie gave her another chance. “All right. I’d like that fine.”

  Mamie finally smiled. “And fine is just how you’ll look. Meanwhile, you need to spend more time with some of our best-mannered girls. Listen to them, try to talk more like them, watch how they handle men. Girls like Lucette and Penny, they could almost skip bedding the customers and still send them out happy.”

  I’d sure like to skip bedding some of them as come in here. She knew not to say anything of the kind. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have them teach you some songs. You’ve a pretty voice, if you learn what to do with it.”

  Jenny winced before she could catch herself. Her brother would laugh himself sick. He’d had plenty of names for her singing. Squealing like a slaughtered hog again? Honkin’ louder’n the goose, you are! But she’d give it a try, and then Mamie would see.

  “Back to work, now. And no more telling jokes, not until you learn some better ones and when to tell ‘em. Stick to smiling and flattering. And of course, act like they’re the best lover you’ve had all year.”

  Were any of the customers fool enough to believe it when a whore said that? Well, she should know by now how big a man’s ego could get.

  Mamie hadn’t insisted Jenny go to any particular girl to smooth her rough edges, so Jenny could think about who she liked who’d also help her satisfy Mamie and the more stuck-up customers. There was Aileen, whose Scottish accent Jenny loved to listen to, but Aileen hadn’t been at Mamie’s much longer than Jenny, and Jenny didn’t know as she was popular enough with that kind of customer. Mamie had mentioned Lucette and Penny. Penny was English and pretty stuck up herself. She might not say no to something that was Mamie’s idea, but she’d probably find a way to make Jenny feel lower’n a snake while “helping” her. Lucette, now, was friendlier, as well as dainty and pretty. If she taught Jenny some of her French words, Jenny could try some out next time she had the kind of customer who’d got Mamie sore at her.

  So at the slow time of morning, she went up to where Lucette was embroidering a lacy handkerchief and explained what Mamie wanted. Lucette’s eyes went bright. “But of course! I would be happy to help. Come up to my room, and we can talk about it.”

  That was for sure better than talking where the other girls might hear and make fun. She followed Lucette to her room, which Mamie had decorated to remind everyone that Lucette came from somewhere fancier than Cowbird Creek. The curtains had more lace on them than in the other rooms, the blanket was embroidered with fancy blue and white and red designs, and a thick close-shaved blue and white area rug stretched under the bed on all sides. Even the easy chair was less, well, easy, less comfy-looking but more elegant-like, though it was big enough for most customers to fit in.

  Lucette hopped onto her bed and crossed her legs under her petticoats and skirt. “Please, take the chair! We will talk.”

  Jenny sat, glad she had enough of her own padding that she didn’t need much from a chair.

  “Let us start with what Madame Mamie did not like, what you did or said that made her send you to me.”

  Jenny didn’t see the need to tell Lucette that Mamie hadn’t done exactly that. As best she could recall, she told L
ucette what joke and what slang had got Mamie’s back up. Lucette listened with her plucked eyebrows up into her forehead. “Ah, oui, I see why that joke might displease Madame. Let me think. Why did you decide to tell the gentleman a joke in the first place?”

  Jenny shrugged. “He just seemed stiff, is all. He didn’t unbutton his waistcoat or nothing when he came in the room. And he didn’t look right at me. Not until I told that joke, and then he looked at me like I was some sort of bug.”

  “You may well have been correct that he was ill at ease. It is good that you noticed this. But it is less risky to relax a gentleman in some other way, unless you know you share a sense of humor — and so many people do not, don’t you think? You could instead tell him how glad you are that he came in, that he chose you, and how flattered you are that such a handsome —”

  Jenny let out a guffaw.

  “— Well, then, so distinguished a gentleman would be spending time with you. You could offer to have some refreshment brought for him, and ask what he would like. Not only may this allow him to compose himself if he is nervous — and no matter how well regarded he is, or how well he regards himself, he may be nervous — but it will ensure that your encounter takes longer, which will mean that he pays for more time. A man such as we are discussing can afford it.”

  Jenny wished she could be sure she’d remember all this, and whatever was coming next. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought how handy it’d be to know her letters better, though it was hard to imagine writing quick enough to keep up with Lucette’s way of talking.

  “As for your comment on the weather, rather than describing the rainstorm as a toad strangler, you could have expressed your hope that the excess of rain had not inconvenienced him. I do not think Madame, or — which gentleman was it?”

  Jenny told her. Lucette tittered. “I can imagine his face! No, I do not think he would have objected if you had expressed such a wish. As for jokes, you must wait and see if he tells any of his own accord, and if he does, laugh as if you never heard anything better — but not too loud, and without slapping the furniture. Only if he has told you perhaps five or six jokes might you venture to tell your own — perhaps something similar you have heard from another gentleman. And apologize beforehand in case he has heard it already.”

  Jenny couldn’t help but sulk. “I don’t see why that old coot and his sort are so picky. I made him feel good enough! And they ain’t coming here for a manners lesson, are they, now?”

  Lucette frowned and wagged a finger. “No, but neither are they coming here only to relieve a physical need. A man seeks more than that release. He seeks companionship, and to feel welcome, and admired, and special. Think of what he may have left behind at home — a wife with at least as many pretensions as he has, and not always inclined to be easily pleased. She may have the habit of scolding him, or ignoring him, or paying attention only to what luxuries he provides her. While he can come to a parlor house such as this and find a woman not only willing and handsome, but eager to see him and listen to whatever he has to say, and appreciative of what physical prowess he displays, however it may compare to that of other, perhaps younger men.”

  Jenny couldn’t keep from imagining those younger men Lucette was talking about. They’d surely be a welcome change. “Sounds like I’ve got to turn myself into some sort of actress.”

  “Exactement! We must be actresses, and hostesses, and confidantes, all together. But the rewards may be great. It is not only that by pleasing these men, we will please Madame, who decides whether we remain employed and what our wages will be. It can happen that a wealthy gentleman will be so taken with our charms, will so much enjoy how we make him feel and how we help him to see himself, that he will wish to have us available only to him. Girls have left places like this to have their own establishments, their own houses with as many luxuries as any wife — or even to become wives themselves!”

  Lucette’s face fairly glowed as she talked. But Jenny couldn’t see what was so much to fancy in the picture Lucette was painting. Having to spend hours every day with some flabby or skinny old man, one as full of himself as the blowhard who had got her into this fix? Having to pretend he was fine as cream gravy?

  Maybe she could learn just enough to keep Mamie from kicking her out, but not enough to please that kind of customer too much.

  What else had Mamie been going on about?

  “Do you think you could teach me to sing something pretty, maybe in French?”

  Jenny had three old men as customers the next two days, and she tried to do the things Lucette had talked about. She even sang to the banker, soft-like, when he came in looking like he was carrying half the world on his back. Not in French, but it seemed to soothe him some.

  When she finally got to go to sleep, in the early hours of the morning, she thought she’d fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. But she ended up lying awake for near a quarter of an hour, thinking about how much more she liked it when a young man came in, a cowboy or a farmer’s son, and how much she’d rather have only such customers as she could be Jenny with, and even tell a joke to, instead of trying to be somebody else without knowing how.

  Now available for preorder here!

  Release date July 15, 2020

  Acknowledgments

  My profound thanks to cover designer Kelly Martin of KAM Design and her unequaled patience and persistence.

  The National Museum of Civil War Medicine provided invaluable assistance in filling in Joshua Gibbs’ and Clara Brook’s wartime experiences, through their Twitter feed (@CivilWarMed) and their Research Department (accessible via http://www.civilwarmed.org/contact/research/). I owe particular thanks to Terry Reimer, Director of Research.

  The Researcher & Reference Services Division of the Library of Congress and the library’s Business Reference Services; Adam Burns of American-Rails.com; Patricia LaBounty, curator at the Union Pacific Railroad Museum; Chris Rockwell, librarian, and Jeff Asay, volunteer, at the California State Railroad Museum; Christina Windheuser, volunteer at the National Museum of American History Archives Center; and longtime friend Fred Campbell helped me find railroad timetables, Pullman car plans and schedules, and railroad-related details. Another (anonymous) staff member or volunteer at the Archives Center steered me in a direction that allowed me to find Sandy Stalder, President of the Quad County Museum and Humboldt Chamber of Commerce; Margo Prentiss, Curator of the Cass County Historical Society; Dick Miers of the Seward County Historical Society; Kelli Baker, Certified Local Government Coordinator for the State of Nebraska; Susan Quinn of the Nebraska City Historical Society; Ed Zimmer of the Lincoln Historic Preservation Commission; Megan Sothan, Museum Administrator for the Gage County Historical Society and Museum; Kathy Woodrell, Reference Specialist for Decorative Arts and Architecture at the Library of Congress; and Jill Dolberg, Deputy State Historic Preservation Officer for the State of Nebraska. All these people provided information about rental housing in Nebraska in the 1870s. Ms. Sothan also alerted me to both the Financial Panic of 1873 and the grasshopper (aka locust) plague of 1874-1875. Andrea Faling, Head of Reference, History Nebraska, provided more information about both. Sarah Williamson, President of the Johnson County Historical Society and Museum; Mary Ann Robertson, Curator at the Heritage Museum of Thurston County; Christine Solomon of the Blair Historic Preservation Alliance; Julie Ashton, Director, and Faith Norwood, Curator, of the Washington County Historical Association; Jane Elske of the Burt County Museum; and Jeff Kappeler, Executive Director of the Dodge County Historical Society, also assisted me in my research into the grasshopper invasion.

  Richard Weyand pointed me toward the movie Back to the Future III for useful setting details.

  My heartfelt thanks to my beta readers: Jennifer Bourgeois, Faith Flores, Lehsa Griebel, Paul Hager (aka my husband), Kimberly Hunt, Steven Karel, Nik Parker, and Dedaimia Whitney.

  Paul and my daughters Livali Wyle and Alissa Wyle also gave me feedback on any number of points thro
ughout the drafting and revision process. My love and gratitude to them once again.

  Author’s Note

  As far as I know, there is no Cowbird Creek, Nebraska, and never has been. All my characters are likewise fictional. The Page Act, unfortunately, was as described, and became law in March of 1875.

  I have tried — with the aid of some of the very helpful people and organizations listed in the Acknowledgments, and quite possibly others I omitted — to ensure that the medical procedures, wartime practices, and equipment described are accurate for the period. I have also striven to keep to words and expressions already in use by 1874, and otherwise to avoid anachronisms. I am not so optimistic, however, as to believe that I completely succeeded.

  One usage issue that arose was how to address a single adult woman and how to refer to her. My research suggests that “ma’am” could be used as a direct address. It also suggested that referring to an unmarried adult woman as, e.g., “Miss Brook” might have been uncommon, at least earlier in the century. The period of my story may have been one of transition as far as this usage is concerned. In the end, I decided the use of “Mrs.” for my single female characters would unduly confuse modern readers.

  I have used, for African-Americans, the term they preferred at the time, namely “colored.” I have Joshua refer to Li Chang as a “Chinaman” and as “Oriental,” which I considered likely as well as more polite than the hostler’s reference to “Chinee” girls. I have also assumed that Joshua, like most Americans up until a much later period, would use “he/him” to refer to unknown persons.

  The sort of “rooms” that Joshua Gibbs inhabits above a storefront were more often occupied by the store’s owners, but some were available for rent. I have assumed that such rooms would have a pot-bellied stove for heating, on which Joshua should be able to do rudimentary cooking. His office would have had running water, which he could use for washing dishes, and he might also have had access to some pump or well for the purpose if he did not object to publicly demonstrating the modest nature of his living quarters.