Beauty From Ashes

by Lynnette Bonner

  Charlotte pulled in a breath and held it, lest she be tempted to cheer Reagan on.

  “Well! I never!” Pricilla flounced against the back of her seat with enough force that the carriage shifted. Then she set to mumbling. Most of what she said was incomprehensible, though Charlotte did think she caught “backwater” and “heathen” and “God forsaken” in the diatribe.

  The road took Liora through acres of clear-cut land, with nothing but stumps and small saplings no higher than her knees. A squirrel, cheeks stuffed so full that he must have just come from robbing an entire grain field, dashed across the road in front of her and leapt up to study her from the flat of a stump, nose and tail twitching. After a moment, he turned and continued his mad dash up the hill.

  Here and there a few lone tall trees had been left uncut to reseed the area. She knew that many logging companies didn’t give a care for such things. Each tree left on the land was considered a loss of money. Yet she couldn’t help but be thankful that Mr. Heath apparently gave thought to the future as well as to the present.

  The road wound up a steep hill and topped out above Camp Sixty-Five. She paused and settled a hand over the trepidation worming through her stomach.

  Just the sight of the camp nestled in the valley below, which she hadn’t visited since she’d left almost three years ago, nearly took the strength from her knees. In all that time, naught seemed to have changed. Though most logging camps were built only as temporary housing, and this one had certainly started out as such, it had far outlived the quality of the first shelters that had been erected. Those, amazingly enough, still stood on the far end of the camp—row upon row of windowless structures, the farthest of which appeared to nestle up against the green wall of timber that towered just beyond them. These thin, gray, canted buildings looked as though a good stiff breeze could topple the whole section of them like so many dominoes. Timber walls, so thin that they frosted up on the inside in the deepest part of winter, were weather-stripped with other, narrower, boards nailed over the gaps. The buildings stood so close together that conversations were often carried on right through the walls from one shanty to the next. Smoke streaked from many of the round, black stovepipes which protruded from each cedar-shingled roof. Mean and lean as these shanties were, they housed crew foremen and loggers who had worked for the company long enough to be awarded one of the coveted abodes.

  Closer to the middle of the camp stood three log cabins that, though small, Liora knew to be much warmer and more comfortable than the shanties. These housed the top three crew chiefs and their families, if they had any.

  The rest of the camp consisted of scattered tents, covered wagons, and tent houses—timber walls about three to four feet high, topped with canvas ceilings.

  Her eyes were drawn to the largest of the tent houses, even as the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach doubled. There, nearly at the very heart of the camp, John Hunt ran his brothel, each room separated by nothing more than a bit of thin canvas.

  The women who worked for him were each “awarded” a small lean-to in the thinned copse of trees just at the edge of the camp. These were nothing more than a few boards nailed together and leaning against the trunks or branches of the trees.

  On rainy nights, bedding became damp clear through. And Liora remembered sitting up many a night, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking and trying to keep warm by their small fire, while her mother worked. During the winter, never warm. During the summer, never cool. Constant thirst. Constant dirt. And always the fear.

  Several times, Mother had tried to leave John. One time they’d even made it a good way into the forest that grew up thick and wild beyond the thinned area, but always John’s guard, who patrolled the lean-tos, had caught them and forced them back to their hut. Prisoners in their own home.

  It was this last thought that currently made Liora’s stomach turn. Because her one reason for coming here was to help women escape. But the how of it, she had been grappling with.

  And what would she do if John caught wind she was in the camp? He’d never liked the fact that she’d refused to work for him. Could he force her into his brothel? And who would stop him if he tried?

  Joe.

  She pushed the thought away before it could take root.

  Still, she hesitated. How would she even decide which women to help? Her limited resources meant that choices would have to be made. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. Maybe she should come back another day, after she’d worked out a better plan.

  The canvas flaps of the main brothel entrance burst apart and a man lurched into the square in front of the building, hauling a dark-haired woman by one arm. She clutched at her bodice, which had been torn from collar to midriff, trying to keep it clasped shut with her one free hand. The man tossed her to the ground and leaned over her.

  “I want my money!”

  The woman shook her head and attempted to scramble back from him. Her reply emerged too soft for Liora to hear from this distance.

  Like ants converging on sweet fruit, people started pouring into the square from every direction. They surrounded the couple, but no one moved to help the woman.

  And then Liora saw him.

  John Hunt stepped out of the crowd, his tall ten-gallon hat an unseemly white slash against the sepia and gray tones that painted every other surface of the valley below, from dirt roads to dusty canvas. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and spat a stream of tobacco to one side. “I’ll know what’s going on here.” His words dropped into the sudden silence that had settled.

  The bruiser flashed a gesture at the woman still lying at his feet. “She stole my whole poke when I were washing up.”

  Again, the woman shook her head, her eyes darting up to John. Even from the hill above, Liora could see the woman’s terror.

  John strode to her, squatted to the balls of his feet, and said a few words.

  Another shake of her head, and again words too quiet to hear.

  One moment John was simply looking down at her, the next his hand cracked across the flesh of her cheek so fiercely the sound seemed to echo off the surrounding hills.

  Liora’s hand flew to cover her own cheek.

  John stood and spat another stream of tobacco directly onto the woman’s skirt. He motioned to one of his guards. “Toss her room. I’ll not have a thief working for me. If you find his wallet, bring it.” To the patron he offered a handshake, while reaching into his vest pocket with his left hand. “We can make this right. How much did you lose?”

  The man hesitated. Only for the briefest of moments. But in this situation, it changed the whole atmosphere.

  John froze and looked up at the man, his money clip half way out of his vest pocket.

  “Ten dollars. And a couple bits,” the man rushed to say.

  It was almost the end of the month. And the loggers were paid only once each month on the fifth. The likelihood of a man such as this still having ten dollars to his name was slim, Liora knew. And obviously, from the look on John’s face, he knew it too. His eyes narrowed in a telltale way. He returned his money to his vest and propped his hands against his hips.

  His guard returned at that moment. “Didn’t find anything, boss.”

  John regarded the client for a long moment before nodding the guard toward the woman, who hadn’t dared to stand in all this time. “Search her.”

  The guard yanked the woman to her feet. After a very thorough and invasive search of her clothing and body, he turned once more to face John with a shake of his head. “Nothing.”

  Without another word, John drew the pistol from the holster at his hip and leveled it at the accuser’s chest.

  A gasp rose up from the crowd. Everyone standing behind the man scattered.

  “Now wait just a min—” He didn’t have time to say more.

  John shot him where he stood and he crumpled to the ground.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Liora jolted. John couldn’t just do that, could he? She scann
ed the crowd. Most were studying the ground. Feet shuffled, but no one challenged him.

  Into the thick silence, John said, “I’ll not tolerate anyone who lies about my girls.” He holstered his pistol and swept a gesture from his guard to the body in an indication that the man knew what he needed to do. John started to walk away, but paused by the prostitute’s side and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You go on and get cleaned up now.”

  The woman tugged her shoulder from his grasp, still clutching her blouse closed, but John didn’t seem to notice either her contempt or the state of her dress. He adjusted his hat, strolled up the street, and disappeared into a tent that housed one of the camp’s saloons.

  Slowly, the crowd disbursed and the woman limped her way past the brothel toward the lean-tos beyond.

  Liora’s feet, which up to that moment had seemed iced to the ground, came free, and she moved to keep track of the woman. Sticking to the trail that skirted the ridge above the camp, she hurried toward the northeast, eyeing the woman’s progress as she made her way through the lean-tos. Liora reached the head of the path that led down into the copse of trees, thankful that winter frosts had stripped most of the deciduous trees of their leaves. She watched until she caught a glimpse of the woman ducking inside one of the structures, and then scrambled down the hill.

  She passed the lean-to she and Mother used to live in, willing down the urge to rush away to safety. If John caught her here… But she had no time to dwell on that now. Besides, she’d seen him go into the saloon. If he still stuck to his patterns, he likely wouldn’t emerge till nearly midnight or beyond.

  And why had she come, if not to help? The medicines in her basket would help the cut on the woman’s cheek, if nothing else. And maybe, just maybe, the Lord had sent her here with rescue on His mind. The least she could do was try. There would be no better time to make an escape than now with John’s goon busy getting rid of a body.

  Liora tapped on the thin door of the home and when the woman opened it, she still clutched her blouse together with one hand.

  Her eyes widened a bit and she took Liora in from head to toe.

  The new green day-dress she’d purchased only last month from Mrs. Callahan gave her away as a stranger to camp life.

  “You ain’t from these parts. What you want?” The woman’s voice was surprisingly soft and mellow. Or maybe it just seemed more so, juxtaposed with the harsh surroundings and the violence Liora had just witnessed.

  Liora clutched her shawl more tightly at her throat and tossed a glance over her shoulder. “I’m not from around here anymore, but I used to be. I have some medicines, and I’d like to help you with that cut if you’ll let me.”

  The woman’s gaze drifted to where Liora’s own scar marred one side of her forehead. She let her look, knowing that a lack of defensiveness would be the quickest way to gain this woman’s trust.

  Now that she stood closer and could see her more clearly, “woman” probably wasn’t quite accurate. The brunette before her was likely closer to seventeen than twenty-five, though the hard life of the camps tended to age a person so she might even be younger. Liora could see why she’d been drafted into John’s brothel. She was beautiful in a breathtaking way that would stop most men in their tracks. Obviously of mixed race, her porcelain skin, golden-brown touched with cream, accentuated dark-lashed blue eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world. Liora wondered where her parents might be.

  After a long moment, the girl stepped back. “Don’t see’s how you can make things worse.”

  That was the only invite Liora got, but she was fine with that. She ducked under the lintel and shut the door behind her. She moved to set her basket on the room’s small table. A strange looking pistol with a fat handle lay atop it.

  Liora froze. Her gaze sought out the girl who had sunk onto the only other piece of furniture in the room, a small cot.

  The girl looked down. “Don’t worry none, I ain’t got the courage to use it. I done tried so many times, the devil just laughs when I pick it up now.”

  Heart full with the knowledge that the Lord had indeed brought her here, Liora nudged the pistol to one side and set her basket down. Was this what Joe had felt like all those years ago when God had woken him from sleep and sent him to rescue her from herself?

  Lord, give me words. She turned to face the girl. “May I know your name?”

  “Teresa. Teresa Trenton But mos’ just call me Tess.”

  “Both are beautiful names.” Liora smiled as she tugged off her shawl and held it out to the girl. “Do you have another blouse?”

  Tess swallowed, and accepted the shawl with a small shake of her head.

  Liora glanced at the cut that still seeped along Tess’s cheek. It was too dark in here to clean it properly. “Do you have a lantern? Or a candle?”

  A barely perceptible shake of her head was the only response.

  That was probably fine because Liora felt a keen urge to be gone from this place. She dug for one of the clean cotton bandages in her basket. “Water?”

  Tess lifted a half-filled canning jar from the floor near her feet.

  Liora wetted her cloth and stepped closer to the girl. She dabbed away the blood and dirt. “You don’t have to stay with him, you know. He doesn’t own you.”

  Tess’s lips pressed into a hard thin line. “Easy fo’ a white woman to say. He won’t let me leave. I done tried.”

  Liora stepped back and made sure she had Tess’s full attention. “Come with me. Right now. I have a place about five miles from here. John is in the saloon and”—she waved a hand—“whoever he has working for him right now is off burying that body.”

  Suspicion narrowed Tess’s blue eyes. “You tryin’ to start competition fo’ John? Cause he ain’t gonna like it none.”

  “No! Heaven’s no. I just want to help you.”

  “Why?”

  Liora paused. There wasn’t time to offer her whole story. She settled for, “Because someone once did the same for me.”

  Tess’s eyes widened and she took Liora in from head to toe. “You was once a whore?”

  Liora felt the stab of regret that always accompanied the reminder. She nodded. “I was.”

  “And you just offerin’ to he’p me?”

  “I am. In fact, it’s exactly why I came here.”

  “What I gots to do?”

  “I’ll have rules. But only about helping keep the place clean, the garden weeded, that sort of thing. You won’t be expected to…entertain anyone.”

  For one brief moment, hope lit the girl’s eyes, but then her shoulders slumped. “He never gonna let me go. No matter that I ain’t nobody’s slave. Jus’ the way things be.”

  Liora had to admit she felt much the same way. “I understand. More than you know, because my mother used to be one of John’s girls. But we can try.”

  Tess gave her little shanty a long scrutiny, and Liora knew the moment she’d made her decision. She wrapped the shawl about herself, forming a covering like a corset, picked up the pistol from the table and thrust it into her skirt, and then propped her hands on her hips. “Fine. We go.”

  Liora scrambled to thrust everything back into her basket. “You don’t have anything else you want to bring?”

  Tess gave one last look around. “Only other thing here is the blankets, and I’ll leave ’em for the next gal, if you don’t think we need ’em.”

  Liora’s heart softened to the girl. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Okay, wait here a moment and I’ll make sure all is clear.” She cracked open the door and assessed the area just in front of the shanty. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she stepped outside to give the area a once-over. No one seemed to be paying Tess’s little lean-to any mind, so Liora tapped on the door. “Let’s go.”

  With Tess on her heels, she hurried through the copse toward the dirt path that led to the top of the ridge. If they could just make it onto the road that led to Wyldhaven, they should be able to make good time. If t
hey hurried, they should be back at her cabin before anyone even realized Tess had gone missing.

  Liora lamented all the other women in all the other shanties. But she couldn’t save everyone at once. She would have to come back for more another day.

  Hoisting her skirts, she devoured the hill with large strides, Tess scrambling to keep up just behind her. Once on the path at the top of the ridge, she wanted nothing more than to run to the connecting trail that would take them back home, but she forced herself to walk calmly, knowing that anyone who looked up to see two women running out of the camp would immediately raise an alarm. Thankfully, there were some patches of brush that kept them from being seen from below by turns. But each time they came to a clearing, Liora held her breath, listening intently for any outcry.

  She could hardly believe it when they reached the road leading back to Wyldhaven. Just a short section down the hill through a few trees and then they would be in the cleared acres where they would be able to be seen for a good ways in either direction.

  Her heart pounded. She hadn’t thought of that. If they noticed that Tess didn’t arrive back at work and went looking for her…

  Now that they were out of sight of the camp, there was nothing for it but to run. Liora took hold of Tess’s arm and urged her forward. “Run!” They had to put distance between themselves and the camp.

  For a little way, Tess kept up, but they hadn’t gone nearly far enough before she stumbled to a stop and propped her hands against her knees. “Can’t. Keep. Runnin’.”

  Liora’s heart panged her. The girl had been surviving on a subsistence diet, even though John did make sure to feed his girls well enough to keep them just above skin and bones. She wasn’t in any condition to be running five miles back to the cabin.

  She glanced behind them. Still no sign of pursuit. She took a breath and slipped her arm through Tess’s. “All right. We’ll walk, but we need to walk as quickly as possible.”

  Tess nodded, still fighting for air. But as they set out, Liora was thankful to see that the girl really did understand the need to hurry.