by Sharon Sala
“After you, Miss Murphy.”
She eyed him curiously then led the way to her room.
James didn’t know what he’d expected, but it was not clean sheets and lace curtains.
“I don’t bring my customers here,” Letty said, and then wondered why she’d said that.
Ah, so that explains it. “Then I thank you for the courtesy of considering me a friend.”
Letty frowned. “I don’t know what I consider you, mister, but I wouldn’t call you a friend. I don’t have any friends.”
“My friends call me Gentleman Jim, but I would like it if you would call me Jim.” He set the wine and glasses on a nearby table, opened the wine and then looked at Letty. “May I pour?”
“It’s why you came. Suit yourself,” she said, and plopped down into a chair, thankful to be off her feet and not on her back at the same time.
He muffled a sigh as he poured the wine. She was harder than he would have liked. From her viewpoint though, he doubted his life looked any rosier. As he handed her a glass, he realized he had subconsciously been hoping she would behave as the women from his past—simpering and flirting while knowing full well that their lush bodies and sweet lips tricked hungry men into vowing words of love and marriage that they didn’t really want.
“To friends,” he said gently, and lifted his drink.
The distinct clink of glass to glass echoed within the quiet of the room, and he thought as they took their first sip that at least this woman was honest. She didn’t pretend. With her, a man knew where he stood.
“To friends,” Letty echoed, and then walked out of her room onto the small balcony, knowing the man would follow, which he did.
“Why, this is a wonderful place,” Jim said, taking note of the night sky as well as being able to look down upon the sprinkling of lamp lights throughout the small town.
“I guess.” She tossed back the wine in the glass as if it was medicine.
“Would you care for more?”
Letty’s expression tightened. “You don’t have to get me drunk to do it. Or maybe it’s you who has to get drunk before you can lower yourself to use a woman like me.”
Jim frowned. “What are you getting at?”
Thankful for the dark that hid the tears in her eyes, Letty handed him the empty glass and then put her hands on her hips in a defiant manner.
“It’s obvious you’re not like the men around here. You’re used to elegant women and nice places. I’m not elegant and the White Dove Saloon isn’t much, either.”
“I’m afraid you misjudge me, Miss Murphy. What I once was is no longer important. I am nothing more than a man who makes his living at cards. I have no home, no family… nothing but a horse and two suits of clothing. I fail to see where that sets me above you in any way.”
Letty’s heart started to pound. What was he up to? “Then what is this all about?”
For a moment he said nothing, and then he exhaled slowly. She could hear it from where she was standing.
“I can tell that I’ve caught you at a bad time,” he said gently. “My mistake. Next time we’ll do this at the beginning of your day, rather than at the end of it.”
He took a step forward, once again lifting Letty’s hand to his lips, but this time he pressed a kiss in the center of her palm.
Letty’s heart skipped a beat.
“You sing like an angel, Miss Murphy. Maybe tomorrow night when you sing, you might look my way. At least I can pretend that you’re singing to me.”
“Uh… I don’t—”
He tipped his hat, lightly vaulted the distance between her balcony and the balcony on the adjoining building, then took the stairs down to the street. She watched as he sauntered toward the hotel and then disappeared inside.
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. Something wonderful had just happened but she wasn’t sure what. Not since her father’s death had she been treated so decently. She wanted to laugh and at the same time, felt like crying. In the distance, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves and then a shout of laughter. Confused by what had transpired, she went back into her room and closed the door.
Wearily, she pulled the curtains then took off her clothes and stepped into the tub of bath water Will the Bartender furnished for her each night. As she sank into the depths, relishing the warmth of the water lapping at her thighs, she thought of how many trips Eulis had made up the stairs to fill her bath. If he spent that much time on his own personal hygiene, he wouldn’t be so disgusting, but the moment the thought was born, she realized that judging the town drunk was hardly in her best interests. Even though she hadn’t let demon rum get the best of her, they weren’t so far removed from each other after all.
For three free drinks of liquor each night, Eulis Potter swept the floors of the White Dove Saloon and carried water for Letty’s bath.
For a roof over her head and food in her belly, Letty Murphy let strangers have their way with her body.
Disgusted with the rambling manner of her thoughts, she reached for the wash rag and lye soap and began scrubbing the scent of her customers from her skin. A short while later, she turned back the covers on her bed and crawled between the clean sheets. Her head hit the pillow with a weary thump. Just before she closed her eyes, she remembered the gambler and the way his lips felt on her skin. She wouldn’t let herself believe that he’d meant anything personal. She couldn’t afford to care.
Even though she didn’t trust him, the gambler continued to sit at the back table for the next five nights. When he wasn’t playing cards, he was listening to her sing. And each night she found herself watching for his smile of approval when the songs were over. On the sixth night, he wasn’t there, and she learned that he’d picked up his horse from the livery and ridden out around noon. She wouldn’t let herself care that he hadn’t said goodbye or wonder what the brief moments she’d shared with him had really meant. Instead, she immersed herself in the business of her life and told herself it didn’t matter.
A couple of days later, Will the Bartender was in the act of closing up for the night. He was polishing the glasses, and Eulis was sweeping up the floor for his usual three free drinks as Letty started up the stairs.
“Well, Letty, looks like you had a good night,” Will said, as he counted out the coins she’d laid on the bar.
Letty frowned. “Depends on what you call good. I made twelve dollars, half of which is yours, and thanks to the last three cowboys I pleasured, I smell like a horse.”
Will frowned. Keeping Letty happy was part of what made his business so good. His other girl, Truly Fine, had been gone for close to a year now and he couldn’t afford to have Letty leaving, too. He’d noticed that she’d been sulking some since that fancy gambler had left town. While he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, he didn’t want her to leave.
“Eulis! When you get through sweeping that floor, you take Letty up some hot water for her bath! Do you hear me?”
Eulis braced himself with both feet apart and leaned on the broom before turning a bleary gaze toward Letty.
“Bats? Letty has bats?”
Will cursed and then came out from behind the bar and swatted Eulis on the shoulder.
“No, you old sot, I said, bath! Letty wants her bath.”
Eulis reeled back in shock. “I ain’t givin’ no woman a bath. Not even for a whole bottle of hooch.”
Letty clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.
“Eulis!”
He veered his gaze in her general direction.
“What?”
“Go get the hot water and bring it to my room.”
Light dawned. “Oh! Right! The hot water.”
He dropped the broom where he was standing and headed for the back room.
Letty glared at Will, daring him to argue. When he remained silent, she tossed her head and started up the stairs.
She left the door ajar for Eulis who thumped up the stairs with the two buckets of hot water. He st
umbled in, slopping a goodly portion from one bucket into his shoe before getting it into the tub.
“Tarnation!” he yelped, as the hot water soaked through the threadbare sock onto his skin.
In pain, he quickly dumped the water into the small hip bath then dropped to the floor. He was in the act of taking off the wet shoe when Letty came in from the balcony.
She saw him taking off his shoes and thought he was getting undressed.
“Don’t even think about it!” she yelled, and picked up her hairbrush and hit him on the back of the head.
At this time of night, Eulis was always less than steady on his feet and sitting down made little difference to his equilibrium. The blow from the hairbrush sent him face forward between his outstretched legs. He groaned, both from the shock of the blow and from the pull of unused muscles at the backs of his legs.
“What did you go and do that for?” Eulis cried, ducking again in fear of a second swing.
“There’s only one reason a man ever takes his shoes off in a woman’s room and I’m done with that for the night,” Letty said.
Eulis groaned. “No. No. I wasn’t tryin’ for no poke. I swear. I spilt hot water in my shoe. That’s all.”
Letty frowned. “Oh. Well then. I guess I’m sorry for hitting you.”
Eulis shrugged. “It’s all right. It didn’t hurt none. It just startled me.”
He peeled the sock from his foot and eyed the skin.
“What do you think? Reckon it’ll blister?”
Letty snorted. “I reckon it didn’t make it past the first two layers of dirt. That’s what I reckon.”
Now it was Eulis’s turn to frown. “It don’t pay to insult the man what brings you your bath water every night.”
Letty sighed and then sat down on the side of the bed.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Eulis. No hard feelings, okay?”
Eulis waited until she tossed the hairbrush onto the other side of the bed and then rolled over and dragged himself upright.
“Yeah… well… just see that it don’t happen again,” he muttered, and started out the door when Letty called him back.
“Hey, Eulis, do you ever want more in your life than what you got?”
Eulis’s head was starting to float right off his shoulders, which always meant he had about five minutes, no more, no less, before he passed out. He preferred passing out on his bed in the back of the saloon, but if Letty didn’t stop her yapping, he wasn’t going to make it down the stairs. However, he knew women well enough to know that if he didn’t answer this question, there would be another and another until they got the answer they wanted, so he shrugged.
“I reckon so.”
“Me, too,” Letty said. “What do you want?”
“That’s easy,” Eulis said. “You know that big fancy bottle of Tennessee bourbon that Will has sitting on the back of the bar? The one that he’s never opened?” He grinned. “That’s what I want.”
Letty snorted in an unladylike manner and grabbed for the hairbrush again.
“Get out of my room, you old sot, and take your stinkin’ shoe with you.”
Eulis ducked as she picked up his shoe and sock and flung them past his shoulder and out into the hall. He made it out of her room just as the door hit him in the backside. It sent him staggering even more, but he caught himself on the stair rail and then turned and glared at her closed door.
“I wish she hadn’t asked me no question. I knew I wouldn’t have the right answer,” he grumbled, then rubbed his hands on his face, trying to stimulate blood circulation.
He eyed the shoe that she’d thrown and knew that if he wanted it back, he would have to bend down to pick it up. He also knew that if he did, he’d spend the night on the floor in the hall.
“I reckon I’ll get it tomorrow,” Eulis said, and started down the back stairs, one shoe lighter than when he’d come up.
He made it all the way to his room, but when he turned around to sit down, missed the side of the bed and sat down on the floor.
“Tarnation.”
It was his last thought of the night as he rolled over on his side and fell asleep.
Upstairs, Letty was in a similar state of mind, but her fugue was not from drink, it was from the miasma of her life. As she scrubbed off the stink of her job, she began to imagine what it would be like not to have to put up with any more men ever again. And just like that, James Dupree’s image popped into her head.
Long after she’d crawled into bed she was still awake, thinking of a dark-eyed gambler who’d smiled at her and kissed her hand, until she finally drifted off to sleep.
But in different parts of the Kansas territory, other people’s lives were taking unexpected turns that would, ultimately, find them all with a need to travel to the place Letty called home.
Lizard Flats was about to experience a boom in population.
Howe The Mighty Do Fall
Reverend Randall Ward Howe was a sinner. He knew it. He accepted it. He even blamed God for it from time to time, claiming he was nothing more than he’d been born to be. It was true that Randall Howe did everything in extreme—from demanding the best cuts of meat to the richest of desserts. And it was also true that he was more than a little bit vain. His clothes were tailor-made, his hats imported from London, England. His shoes had a perennial shine, and the part in his hair was straight down the middle without a hair out of place.
Even though he was well over six feet tall, he was already what ladies would call stout. He accepted the fact that, with age, corpulence would follow. His father had run to fat. His mother had been Rubenesque in stature as well. Still, at forty-two, he carried himself well, in spite of a growing paunch.
But weight was the least of Randall’s sins. The one he fought most often—the one that least befitted his role in life—was the sin of lust. It was a sad and truthful fact, but Randall Ward Howe—Reverend of the United Brethren Church of Boston, Massachusetts—lusted after women.
It was also true that, as he moved from parish to parish, he left weeping widows in his wake. Lonely women who’d been easy game for the sweet-talking preacher. Women who’d let themselves be swayed by the power of his voice and the caress of his hands. And, because they were widows, he had gotten away with his indiscretions. They were the women who had been relegated to the sidelines of society because they no longer had a gentleman to accompany them. It had been easy to slide into the role of protector. It had been even easier to become their confidante. After that, bedding them had been simple. The trick was staying on the far side of a wedding ring.
For a while, the joys of being wooed overshadowed the widows’ hopes of being wed. But that phase never lasted. Eventually the gullible women would begin to see that their expectations did not coincide with the reverend’s intentions.
That was when the hoo-haw began.
It was also the signal for the Bishop of the United Brethren Churches to once again step in, sternly admonish Randall Howe for his sins, and discreetly move him to another city. To Randall’s credit, his shame always seemed sincere, and his promises to do better rang true. But there was a limit to everyone’s patience and Randall Howe knew that his appointment to the Boston church was his very last chance. In fact, he’d heard it on good authority that had it not been for the fear of public scandal, the bishop would have already stripped him of his collar and shown him the door. Yet he was in Boston, and he had no intentions of betraying God, or the bishop, or himself again.
But that was before Priscilla Greenspan, widowed daughter of Ambrose Tull, the United Brethren’s deacon, sallied into the church. One look at the petulant pout on her lips and he knew his restraint was going to be tried.
By normal standards in any society, Priscilla Greenspan would have been called a fine-looking woman. For Randall, who had been abstinent for more than three months, she was a goddess. One look at her burgeoning bosom and trim waist, and his body betrayed him. Only the fact that he was covered by the mantle of h
is pastoral robes saved him from public humiliation. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth as he reminded himself it couldn’t matter how lovely she was. He was here to spread God’s word, not sow his seed in unhallowed ground. And then she smiled at him. The battle was lost before it began.
Priscilla lay in the jumble of covers with a frown between her forehead and her lips in a pout. This was the fifth time in as many weeks that she had agreed to a secret assignation with the reverend, but her patience was running thin. Granted she’d been swayed by his fine figure and pretty ways. And there was the fact that she’d been ripe to be had. A widow for more than two years now, her needs as a woman had been brimming to running over. Randall Howe had taken care of everything, including the brimming needs, and she’d loved it.
But now that Priscilla’s fire had been dampened, her thoughts were turning to the future—hers and Randall’s. The only problem was he’d never even said he loved her. She didn’t want to give him up, but playing loose to keep him wasn’t in her plan. Last night she’d decided all he needed was a nudge. So she’d agreed to meet him again, telling herself it was to be the last time without benefit of vows.
“Randall, darling, there is something I simply don’t understand.”
Randall smiled at her as he buttoned his shirt. All rumpled and pink-cheeked from their recent bedding, she was a picture to behold, but his mind was already moving toward tonight’s church council meeting. His conscience pricked as he thought about what he’d been doing, but only slightly. This time he’d convinced himself it was different. This woman was perfect for him. She hadn’t demanded a thing from him except more lovemaking. He’d been happy to oblige.
“What’s that, my dear?”
He reached for his pants.
“Why have you yet to speak of our future?”
At that moment he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that his days at the United Brethren Church were numbered. He pasted on a sweet, sickly smile and tried to focus on something besides throwing up.