Tory

by Vikki Kestell

  In a strictly literal way, the passage bothered her, particularly where the first line spoke of ‘thoughts of peace, and not of evil.’

  “I am imprisoned under Roxanne’s thumb in this house of evil! No peace will ever be mine—not until I escape this hell upon earth. And even if I did escape, would I be free of the awful things I have done? No. And how could I flee, surrounded as I am by the many men who are paid to keep me a slave? There will be no peace for me; I must likely die to escape this life of whoredom.”

  However, before Tory could sleep each night, she needed to clear her mind—expunge the horrors she nightly endured. She would repeat the single Bible verse over and over, finding numbing comfort in it—although she did not understand why. She only knew that murmuring the words softly seemed to calm her and help her slip into the oblivion of sleep.

  “Ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” Tory often pondered this statement. “Who is this ‘me’ I must seek and find? And how do I search for him ‘with all my heart’?”

  Then she would sigh. “I have no heart. It is crushed and dead.”

  Tory’s only other source of comfort was Helen, the girl who had cared for her after Darrow and Jingo beat her. Helen’s simple kindness—and the tears she had shed for Tory—had bonded them. Tory and Helen watched out for each other and helped each other navigate the snares and pitfalls of Roxanne’s stringent rules and expectations.

  Although Tory believed there was no hope for her or Helen, she continued to ponder and repeat the words of the Bible passage because of the calming influence it held over her—perplexing as that soothing effect was.

  TORY HAD BEEN A PRISONER and a whore for Roxanne Cleary for two months when a new girl was shifted from the “lower” house to Corinth Gentlemen’s Club. The new girl had, according to the gossip, been in the lower house for a few weeks while she was being “broken in.”

  “Esther caught a glimpse of her,” Sarah whispered as they dawdled in the hall, “says she is scarcely more than a child—would not put her above fourteen.”

  Tory’s chest constricted. “Poor thing.”

  “I hear, too, that she is Chinese.”

  “Chinese!”

  “Yes, and Esther says she is exquisite: heart-shaped face, perfect ivory skin. You know how Roxanne is. She’ll paint and costume the child, then present her as some new and exotic delicacy for the ‘guests’ to fawn and squabble over.” Sarah’s mouth hardened. “Did I say guests? I meant filthy lechers. That’s what men are—all of them.”

  Tory nodded and hurried on her way. She still needed to dress for dinner and the evening—and tardiness to the table earned a girl an empty plate while the others filled theirs.

  It was at dinner that Roxanne introduced her most recent addition. “Corinth Gentlemen’s Club has a new attraction. I think you will not find her lacking in refinement, charm, and eloquence. We shall call her Little Plum Blossom.”

  The girl, as tiny and fragile in appearance as a flower, acknowledged Roxanne’s introduction with a graceful inclination of her head and took her seat; she stared straight ahead, a slight smile fixed on her otherwise expressionless face. Tory and Helen exchanged glances.

  As Sarah had predicted, Roxanne painted the girl’s face and dressed her in an elaborate, custom-made kimono. The Little Plum Blossom’s debut was an instant success. Clients flooded the house, often reserving her weeks in advance.

  The Little Plum Blossom’s popularity did not diminish the demand for Tory’s “favors,” however. Club “members” regularly asked after her, and she considered herself lucky in that regard. Disfavor with the club’s “clients” was to be feared, as was the passage of time.

  No girl lasted at the Corinth Gentlemen’s Club longer than a year or two, some only a few months. Girls whose attitudes and skills were not exemplary or whose popularity waned were sent either to the “lower,” less exclusive house next door or were “sold” to cheap whorehouses down in the city.

  The lower house had eleven girls, but the number and complement of the stable changed often. New girls were regularly lured to Denver through false employment opportunities. Once they were snared, they were taken to the lower house to be “broken in,” assessed, and eventually (when their novelty wore thin) “sent down mountain.”

  Whether at the lower house or the Corinth Gentlemen’s Club, the threat of being “sent down mountain” was another tactic Miss Cleary used to keep “her” girls in line. “You have plenty of food with me, lovely surroundings, and our guests are clean. Think on these benefits before you act foolishly and lose your position here.”

  At present, the club boasted a baker’s dozen of such beauties: Esther, Molly, Sarah, Dotty, Crystal, Jess, Ava, Savannah, Dahlia, Helen, Mimi, Tory and, most recently, the Little Plum Blossom. Helen, who had the gift of a compassionate ear, got close to the Little Plum Blossom first and won the child’s trust.

  “Her real name is Mei-Xing,” she reported to Tory, “but she will not say where she is from or how Roxanne tricked her into coming here.”

  Tory nodded. “You know the story of my phony employment offer. Weren’t most of the girls here fooled by false employment advertisements in the newspapers?”

  Helen sniffed. “Not all. Savannah and Esther were already skillful courtesans. Roxanne promised them a better situation and higher wages. Of course, they found out when they arrived that wages are nonexistent and leaving is not an option.

  “As for me, I answered a newspaper listing to care for the two children of a widowed doctor. My new ‘employer’ sent me a letter with instructions and a train ticket to Denver. The instructions told me to call for a second ticket when I arrived at Union Station. That ticket took me to Corinth, where Darrow and two other men met me. The men threw me into the motorcar and brought me to the “lower” house where I was given to a man who pays to deflower virgins. Later, when Roxanne discovered I was classically trained on piano, she placed me here.”

  She sighed. “Yes, my tale of woe started with a newspaper advertisement—but I would think Mei-Xing unlikely to answer such an advertisement. She seems too young. Too fragile.”

  “Fragile? Perhaps.”

  The Little Plum Blossom was as much a puzzle as she was popular with the guests. Tory and Helen took the girl under their wings whenever they could—but Tory sensed a depth lurking under the girl’s demure exterior, a strength and determination that Roxanne’s methods must eventually crush.

  Tory said nothing to Helen about her concern for Mei-Xing.

  What would be the point?

  TORY’S LIFE IN CORINTH devolved into a predictable pattern, a soul-searing sameness: night after night of men and day after day of chores. Following breakfast late each morning, Miss Cleary assigned common household tasks to the girls: dusting, polishing, mopping, scrubbing, and never-ending laundry. With a steady stream of visitors to the house, the clearing up and preparing for the next night was ongoing. When Roxanne discovered that Tory had been a seamstress, she consigned her personal mending to Tory, with the warning, “Take care that you do not misuse the sewing kit I have allowed you, Tory.”

  In reality, the kit had been rendered harmless: a single needle, thimble, darning egg, thin crochet hook, an assortment of threads, and a tiny, blunted pair of scissors for clipping threads.

  “I suppose Roxanne doesn’t wish any of us to drive a pair of shears into her or Darrow,” Sarah muttered, “although I confess to fantasizing of such an opportunity.”

  The girls were kept so occupied that Tory was surprised to realize that spring had come and gone and summer had settled on the mountains. Once weekly, when weather permitted, Roxanne ordered that the girls, in controllable groups of three, be taken on walks along nearby mountain paths “for their health.” Darrow and his men accompanied them, chasing off any Corinth villager who happened near them.

  Tory and Helen managed to include Mei-Xing in their threesome on such walks. While Tory and Helen spoke in
soft whispers over her head, Mei-Xing was quiet. She rarely said anything, but Tory noticed the girl’s alert and observant manner. In fact, Tory worried that Mei-Xing was planning something.

  It was July when Mei-Xing attempted to escape.

  Apparently, Tory had not been the only one to sense that Mei-Xing had been biding her time, waiting for the opportune moment.

  She was immediately recaptured.

  I was right, Tory thought. Mei-Xing was only pretending to have given in.

  She suppressed a shudder. And now she will pay the price.

  Mei-Xing’s shrieks and screams echoed through the house that afternoon as Darrow and another man administered the requisite punishment. They then drugged her, so she would sleep through the evening without disturbing the club’s guests.

  The following morning, Tory was given the task of caring for Mei-Xing’s wounds—just as Helen had cared for hers. When she opened the door to the punishment room, she shivered. It had not been that long since she had been the one in the bed, broken, torn, bleeding.

  Tory cleaned Mei-Xing as best she could and gave her water, but the girl would not look at her or speak a word.

  “They will send her down mountain now,” Helen murmured, “yet she is so tiny and delicate. How long could she last in a cheap bordello?”

  “She is stronger than we give her credit for,” Tory insisted, “And perhaps Roxanne will make an exception? The Little Plum Blossom is a club favorite.”

  “No, Tory. Roxanne never keeps a girl who has tried to run.”

  At dinner, Miss Cleary—cold and harsh—addressed the assembled girls. “The Little Plum Blossom took advantage of her status in this house. Well, she has been punished—as will be any girl who makes such a foolish attempt. She will be given no food for five days—not a scrap. I guarantee she will not try such imprudence again.”

  Although Roxanne glared around the table, she said nothing more.

  Tory bent her face toward her plate, avoiding eye contact with the woman, but she wondered, Roxanne is not sending Mei-Xing away?

  “I think the man who owns these houses must have insisted that Roxanne keep Mei-Xing,” Helen theorized. “She earns him a great deal of money, after all.”

  Tory exhaled, still anxious. “Perhaps, but as badly beaten as Mei-Xing is, she still seems . . . undaunted. Undeterred. Do you think she might try it again?”

  “For her sake, I hope not.”

  In all outward appearances, Mei-Xing had learned her lesson. She settled in, applied herself to her “responsibilities” and gave no sign of rebellion, no indication she intended to attempt another escape. Summer passed by, and the Little Plum Blossom retained her prominent standing in the club.

  Tory, however, kept a disquieted vigilance over Mei-Xing for, in the slightest turn of her head or lift of a brow, she sensed the girl’s veiled defiance.

  Charles taught me well; I am skilled at reading people.

  Oh, Mei-Xing.

  HIGH IN THE MOUNTAINS, cooler weather came more quickly to Corinth than to Denver and Colorado’s eastern plains. While the city below them enjoyed balmy September days, in the village, brisk, chilling winds already forecast the change of seasons.

  As the temperatures cooled, a more unsettling change came to Corinth and its two houses of ill-repute—an upheaval portended by the arrival of a young blonde woman in the village.

  The girls of the Corinth Gentlemen’s Club always found ways to eavesdrop on the business of the house. Whether hiding behind doors or affecting disinterest, the girls overheard discussions and heated arguments between Roxanne and Darrow regarding the mysterious woman. And, with so little to brighten their lives outside their “work,” the girls in the house were quick to devour and share tidbits of news they gleaned.

  In particular, they were keen to pass on all they gathered concerning “the blonde woman.” Information may have been scarce, but the girls shared and commented on such scraps of gossip during quick, passing moments.

  On a morning in late September, Tory and two other girls huddled in the third-floor hallway to revel in the latest uproar the blonde woman’s presence in Corinth had provoked.

  Savannah whispered, “Darrow told Roxanne that the woman’s name is Joy Thoresen. I heard she is related to the wife of Corinth’s minister. Cousins.”

  “Corinth has a church?” Tory was shocked.

  “Yes, much good as it does us,” Savannah sneered.

  Dahlia leaned closer. “Well, I overheard Darrow say he went to Denver to pick up two girls who had answered newspaper advertisements, but this Thoresen woman would not let him have them. Imagine it: She defied him in public, in the midst of Union Station! She got the crowd to turn on him! And now Darrow is furious because it seems this Miss Thoresen brought those same girls to Corinth. They are here, in the village, right under his nose, and he has not been able to capture them.”

  “This Thoresen woman is a fool, as Darrow and his men will soon demonstrate,” Savannah pronounced.

  Savannah’s warning ended the whispered conversation; the girls hurried about their respective chores, heavy-hearted for the naïve do-gooder, Miss Thoresen, who would, they were certain, feel the weight of Darrow’s wrath before long.

  Tory was as intrigued as she was concerned. Listening at doors or around corners carried a risk, but Tory’s curiosity regarding “the blonde woman” was great.

  A week later, Tory overheard Darrow complaining to Roxanne.

  “You know that old house on the overlook near the siding we tried to buy? The house the owner refused to sell? Seems the owner has had a change of heart—and has sold it to this Thoresen woman.”

  “What! Why would she want such a large house—and here in this lifeless village?”

  “She intends to turn it into a resort hotel and call it Corinth Mountain Lodge. What is worse, our two girls, the ones she stole from us, are helping her.”

  Darrow growled in frustration. “I think this Miss Thoresen fancies herself some sort of reformer, tryin’ to rescue whores and help them ‘find Jesus.’ Well, if she thinks that, Morgan will have us fix her wagon, he surely will.”

  “She will not be finding any girls to help from my houses,” Roxanne had replied.

  Tory turned to scuttle away and nearly tripped over Mei-Xing who had also been listening behind her skirts. Neither girl said a word. They slipped away in silence.

  Later, Tory repeated the conversation to Helen.

  “Morgan? Who is Morgan?” Helen asked.

  Tory shrugged. “Could he be the owner of these houses? Roxanne’s boss?”

  She asked another question, one that had ignited her hopes. “Darrow said Miss Thoresen might be trying to rescue whores. Do you think . . . do you think she might help us?”

  “One woman against all Darrow’s armed men? I doubt it.”

  “You are probably right.” Tory mused on the overheard conversation and her dashed hopes. “I suppose, as bad as living here is, we are the lucky ones. We could be in a Market Street crib in Denver. We could be working in filth.”

  “I suppose,” Helen answered.

  Tory gave her friend a sharp look, dismayed that she did not appear as well as Tory thought she should.

  “Are you all right, Helen?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  Tory shrugged, but she began watching Helen, noting subtle changes in her appearance. In her heart, she cried out, Please do not let Helen get sick! She is my only friend—please do not let her get sick!

  She heard herself begging, but could not put a name to the one she begged.

  Neither did she dare call it prayer.

  As Sassy had said, “Prayers be worthless in a house of sin.”

  Chapter 26

  November arrived, and with it greater numbers of guests, men who found the biddable companionship of Corinth preferable to the tedious and rigid social scene of Denver, men who frequented Corinth to escape the boredom of their spouses and the censure of society.


  Floating among the girls of the house was the most recent rumor concerning Miss Thoresen—that she and her friends had received a shipment of furniture to fit up her Corinth Mountain Lodge.

  “Gretl heard Darrow say that the lodge will be ready to receive guests soon,” Dahlia reported.

  Again, Tory’s hopes lifted. “Do you . . . do you think it is possible that the people in Denver—I mean the good people—know nothing about us? About these houses?” she asked. “Could Miss Thoresen’s lodgers intervene to help us?”

  Dahlia was quick to shake her head. “Why, what could they do?” She jerked her chin in a gesture of disgust. “We must accept the facts, Tory: To the world we are but worthless whores. No one cares about us—and no one will do anything to help us.”

  THANKSGIVING PASSED with no special observance, and the month drew to an end. On the last day of the month, Corinth received fresh snow. Colder temperatures arrived with the snow.

  At breakfast the following morning, Tory nudged her friend. “Helen, you have eaten nothing.”

  “I am not hungry this morning, Tory.”

  Tory gazed down the table and, trying not to draw Roxanne’s attention, studied Helen out of the corner of her eye. She did not like what she saw. Helen’s usually thick, shining hair seemed thinner. Duller. Her face a pasty color.

  Before dinner, as they finished their preparations for the evening, Tory pulled Helen into her room. “Let me look at you.”

  “Please, Tory. Just let me go. It will take me forever to get ready as it is. I-I am just so tired.”

  “Then let me help you. I want to.”

  Helen reached for Tory and hugged her, but Tory was dismayed to feel that Helen had lost weight.

  “You are a good friend, Tory. I am grateful to have you in my life.”