The Dolan Girls
By S. R. Mallery
Copyright © 2015 by S. R. Mallery
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contact: www.srmallery.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
1861: Young Kisses
CHAPTER TWO
The Start Of It All––1856 Nebraska
CHAPTER THREE
1861 - 1871: Harsh Realities
CHAPTER FOUR
Returning Home: 1883
CHAPTER FIVE
Taming All Devils: 1883
CHAPTER SIX
1883: Different Encounters
CHAPTER SEVEN
Buffalo Bill and Beyond
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shifting Winds
CHAPTER NINE
All Manner of Changes
CHAPTER TEN
“We Never Sleep”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Full Circles
CHAPTER TWELVE
Temptations
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Chickens Come Home To Roost
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tightening Up the Reins
THANK YOU:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS BY S. R. MALLERY:
DEDICATION
To my family and all those who made up the Wild West
CHAPTER ONE
1861: Young Kisses
Cora Dolan refused to talk about what had happened six years earlier, ten miles above town. Sealed up as tight as a snail in the cold she was, even to her sister Minnie, who was there with her the whole time; even with Thomas, who held her heart.
Yet one star-flushed night, as the wind’s edges were chilling and the shortening days were trumpeting the around-the-corner autumn, the two sweethearts pressed against a neighbor’s barn door, and Cora opened her mouth to share her past, then paused.
“What is it, Cora?” Thomas whispered, his steady arm around her sixteen-year-old waist, his mouth brushed against her ear. “Tell me what gets you sad sometimes. Let me help you.”
She forced a smile. “I’m all right, truly I am,” she said, placing her right hand gently over her heart for a couple of seconds. With her arms then draped over his broad shoulders, she uplifted her face for a kiss.
“Oh, Cora,” he said softly, his lips heading toward hers, “I love it when you put your hand over your heart. It’s so sweet. So trusting.”
Suddenly, a horse’s sudden clop-clop broke their embrace, sending them scurrying off to Cora’s residence. Several blocks away, still running, laughing, holding hands, they slowed their pace down to a stroll as they passed the livery stable, the local blacksmith, the church shut tight for the night, the brand new post office, and the local saloon with its strong bouquet of whiskey and beer wafting into the air. Finally they stopped in front of the red-curtained Madam Ana’s, South Benton’s second watering hole, the place for pleasuring most any man.
And home to the Dolan girls.
“I guess it’s good-night, then,” her young suitor murmured, angling for another kiss.
A male snicker rang out. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Out from behind the southeast porch post stepped a slightly older young man, his black hat cocked forty-five degrees, his leather jacket opened, his six-shooter holstered just below his waist. He moved in close.
“Cora, sweet thing, why in the world do you waste your time with such a greenhorn, huh?” he sneered. “Be like the gals you live with and try a real man for once!”
Thomas stepped in front of Cora. “Wes, that’s no way to treat a lady. Let her be!”
The stepbrothers faced each other. “Don’t you threaten me!” Wes spat back, splaying his tall, wiry legs and fingering his new grown mustache, as if to further prove his manhood.
“That’s rich––me threatening you. Now, leave us alone!”
As Wes half walked, half hitched away, chortling, Cora clutched her protector. “He’s always so scary,” she whispered.
“Ever since we were little, he’s been a sick sonafa bitch. Sorry, Cora. Why, he didn’t even shed a tear when his pa and my ma both died, never said a thanks to old man Preston when he took us on as ranch hands. Enough said.” One cheek muscle twitched.
Thomas pulled her around in front of him and gripped her shoulders. “Rest assured, I’ll never let him harm you, Cora. Never. Besides, ever since I whipped him good during last year’s hog wrasslin’ contest, when he was thrashin’ a hog with no need to, he knows better than to take me on!” He laughed. “You should have seen his face when we were finished!”
“Why does he sometimes have that strange walk?” She bit her lip on its lower right side.
“Years ago, Wes was throw’d off of a horse, bit the dust, so to speak. The doctor said he’d probably always have leg trouble, especially if he was tired or if it was raining or cold.”
“That must have been hard for him.”
“I suppose it was. It also didn’t help when my stepfather told him straight out, ‘Serves you right!’ Anyway, after that, sure enough, if he’s tired or the weather’s wet or cold, he walks like that.”
“I see.” They continued drifting back toward her home, arm-in-arm in silence, until they reached her front porch. “Thomas?” She half-whispered.
“Yes?”
“About what Wes said. Do you mind that Minnie and I live with those women inside?”
“The doves? Of course, not! They’re just people like anyone else, no better, no worse. ” He drew her close. “But you, I think you’re beautiful, Cora. In fact, you’re perfect.”
Concentrating on his piercing blue eyes, she leaned in for a kiss. All of a sudden, they heard Madam Ana inside, laughing with one of her customers while an out-of-tune piano clunked loudly in the parlor. Although the kiss ended up much shorter than he would have liked, he said nothing when Cora turned and swung the front door open to head toward the back of the house where she shared a bedroom with her sister Minnie.
Just inside, Cora walked into the parlor, with its red velvet wallpaper and red carpeting, stretching out onto the large, winding staircase that led upstairs. She continued on, past the central eye-catchers of the room: a large maroon settee, piled high with plump, satin pillows, and a glittering chandelier hovering overhead that word had it, cost a small fortune. Nothing was too good for the ambitious Madam Ana Prozinski from Russia, she was always being told.
“Cora!” called out Becky, a voluptuous blonde squeezed into a purple, gusset-enhanced corset, high-heeled boots, and her famous black velvet choker. “While we’ve been workin’ here a month of Sundays, you get to make a night of it! For two cents, I’d love to know what you’ve been doin’!”
“Yup, I reckon she just got a lick and a promise!” added a red-petticoated Julie to a chorus of shrieks and laughter.
Amy, in a rose colored shimmy and fishnet stockings, chimed in. “Look at her red face! Did you ever see anything so perty? It’s just like…”
“She’s always pretty!” Julie interrupted. “Talks fine, too. Must be all those speakin’ lessons from Pete she’s always taking.”
“Yeah,” Becky said, chuckling. “She talks like one of them refined ladies, but she’s also so pretty she could be one of us. I’ll bet she could bring in those cowboys by the wagonloads! She’s…”
Madam Ana strode into the room “Girls, enough!” You know I take no stock in dis kinda talk. Leave Cora be. Now go back to verk!” She looked around at her employees and clapped twice. “Now!” she barked.
The doves instantly went about their business, chatting with a few stray cowboys and Cora’s tutor, a well-dressed, poetry-reciting gentleman named Pete.
Madam Ana turned to her young charge. “Cora, kotik, where you been so late? With Thomas?”
Cora nodded.
With a knowing grin, Madam Ana cradled the girl’s elbow and gently pushed her through the parlor and down the hall toward the Dolan girls’ bedroom. As Cora got undressed and climbed into bed next to her sister, she smiled in the dark, knowing someday she was going to marry her Thomas, and thinking that perhaps she was the luckiest girl in the world, after all.
* *
A week later, on a cold blustery day, she was called into Madam Ana’s office.
“Cora, I need you to run errand for me. You go to Mr. Mahoney’s, yes?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to,” she replied, excited at the prospect of being able to indulge in her favorite past time: reading dime novels.
Walking over to the store, she hummed, still shrouded in the love of her kind, handsome Thomas and buoyed by the freedom from house chores that day.
“Miss Cora! And how are we this fine, cold day, hmm?” Mr. Mahoney, the shop owner, was always courteous to her even if several of the ‘good’ women in town weren’t.
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Mahoney. Mrs. Ana sent me here to buy…”
“Yes, I know what she needs this time of the week, the same as always. I’ll go get the items and be back in a minute. Meantime, help yourself to some butterscotch candy, child. The missus made it up special.”
“Thanks, Mr. Mahoney. That’s very kind of you,” Cora replied absentmindedly, as she headed for the dime novel rack.
She picked one out entitled, Buffalo Bill in the Land of the Spirits, and opening it up, eagerly started reading. Three minutes in, an eerie, gravitational pull lifted her head up from the book to glance out the window toward the street. Across the lane, stood Wes, leaning against the saloon’s hitching post, watching her carefully. No smirking, no hat tipping, no movement, except to suddenly kick viciously at a stray dog trotting by and laugh at its pitiful whimpers. Then back to watching her.
She looked down at the book again, her hands shaking, her heart rattling, but by the time she ventured another peek, he was nowhere in sight.
“Here we are, young lady, everything that Mrs. Ana asked for.” Mr. Mahoney handed a large parcel over to the teen. “Child, are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine!” she answered quickly, and with a slight nod, hurried out the door, glancing both ways before darting off to Madam Ana’s.
Her first instinct was to tell Thomas, then thought better of it. After all, she reasoned, his brotherly relationship with Wes was bad enough, why make it any worse? So she kept quiet, and after a day or so, her pulse returned to normal.
* *
All too soon, December was closing in on the town. Flannel petticoats replaced cotton ones, fortified boots and wool muffs became commonplace, and Madam Ana’s was growing more and more festive by the hour. In order to satisfy her sensibilities, and of course, those of her customers, there was much to do––extra candles to be lit, punch bowls filled, and a frequent march down to Mr. Mahoney’s shop was without question.
“Minnie, Cora, these new tablecloths need extra lace. Please go to Mr. Mahoney’s shop and bring me back supplies for next veek. But don’t take too long; I vill need you both here to help me with cooking.”
“I never take long. Why in the world would you say that, Mrs. Ana?” Minnie retorted.
Ana stared at Cora. “No Buffalo Bill dime novels today, right, Cora?”
Cora gulped. “How did you know?”
Ana chuckled. “I know everytink in this town!” She placed an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Now scoot, both of you!”
They could still hear her laughter as they stepped down onto the street and instinctively lifted up their skirts and petticoats to avoid the all-pervasive mud. Mud that softened the ruts left by an occasional team of wagon wheels flicked against buildings as horses paced by, and tracked into the foyer of the town’s only saloon on a nightly basis.
Behind the main street, the pungent smell of fresh cut wood was powerful. Buildings in various stages of construction were being put up: houses, barns, stores, another livery stable, another saloon of a lower order, a new school a quarter mile off, a second church for those Baptists escaping the country’s East Coast’s political storm. Hammering filled the air like a rhythmic choir––heavy handed, tight-fisted, syncopated, and steady, as Minnie and Cora strolled arm and arm down the street. Humming, giggling, and remembering old times in Ireland, they marveled at the fact that they had somehow survived it all.
At the shop, Mr. Mahoney was friendly as ever, handing out a generous portion of candy. Cora hurried past the dime novels.
“That is dreadfully big of you, Cora!” Minnie said, giggling.
They decided to hasten their return to Ana’s by taking a couple of abandoned alleyways back, singing Irish songs and having a grand old time.
“Remember the time we all…” Minnie started as Wes stepped out from behind a crate and blocked their path.
“Well, well, well. If it ain’t the Dolan gals!” He sniffed, then released a wad of spit on the ground in front of them.
“Wes! What is it you want?” Cora’s voice thinned to a squeak.
“What is it I want? Why, ain’t you always the high-toned one! Guess those lessons have paid off!” He sneered at her and leaned in closer. “You, Cora, I want you, but I’ll take your older sister as well, even if she talks as rough as the rest of us.”
Cora could feel Minnie bristling beside her.
“If you know what’s good for you, Wes Garrett, you’ll leave us alone!” Minnie barked as he snickered gleefully.
Grabbing Cora’s trembling hand, the older Dolan marched them both forward, elbowing his shoulder as she passed him, then sparking a run all the way back to Ana’s, his cackles echoing behind them.
“He’s the devil incarnate!” Cora said once they reached their front porch.
“Oh, pfft! I think he’s all bluff. All he needs is a good goin’-over. Don’t be scared, Cora. I honestly don’t think he will ever…Oh, honey, please don’t worry,” Minnie finished, folding her tearful sister into her arms.
* *
After that, Cora’s days were filled with sideway glances––purposeful glances up and down Main Street, studied glances in Mr. Mahoney’s shop, furtive glances when she was out with Thomas.
“Cora, you seem so nervous. What’s wrong?” he would ask.
Her answer was always the same: “I’m all right, truly I am.”
Finally, one evening when they were cozying up next to one another, holed up in the stables with the gently nuzzling horses and the scent of new, mounded hay, Thomas questioned her once again.
“I’ve noticed you still seem so nervous. Is it about Wes and that time? When push comes to shove, his bark is far worse than his bite, you know.”
Nodding, she held her tongue. Perhaps Minnie and Thomas were right. Perhaps Wes was bluffing after all.
Two days later, the young couple was sitting on a wooden bench outside of the church talking in low tones and looking up at the light gray sky readying itself for a soft snow. Suddenly, a couple of cavalry soldiers four-beat gaited into town, straight-faced, shoulders back, and stopping in front of the new post office. Mr. Johnson, the postmaster, came out looking officious, his chest puffed out a good inch.
“Where do you want to set up, fellers?” he asked.
/> One of the soldiers got down from his horse. “How’s about right in front of your place? You prepared what we requested?”
“Yes, indeedy. Here they are.” The postmaster unrolled two recruitment posters for the Union Army of the Potomac.
A small crowd gathered, muttering a collage of comments: “This ain’t our war, let the rest of the country fight it, not us!” and “We’re actually going to war? Oh dear, oh dear,” and “Lordy, Lordy, save us from President Lincoln and Jefferson Davis! We just want some peace!”
Cora and Thomas wandered over, Cora, still lost in her thoughts. A tall cowboy, with what appeared to be a brand new Stetson and red scarf, tossed out the first question.
“How long you men here in town?” His tone wasn’t particularly friendly or curious, simply flat, like one of those new telegraph machines ticking out a telegram.
One of the soldiers answered, “As long as it takes.”
Thomas pulled Cora aside. “I have to tell you something,” he said.
She turned to him, smiling, expectant, one hand over her heart.
“It seems I have to go away to pick up some supplies for my boss. He has monstrous need of it, and it’s only sold in Omaha.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ll be gone a couple, maybe three days, that’s all.”
“When is this happening?” She was already missing him as she watched him cradle her hand in his.
“In a week. And when I return, there’s something I want to tell you,” he muttered.
What did he mean by that? Her heartbeat picked up speed. Marriage? A family? She wished she had the courage to ask him, but knew she didn't.
Instead, that evening, standing on Ana’s porch with him, she made sure her goodnight kiss was particularly long, bringing on the closest to passion they had ever reached. Melting into his body, she tasted his lips, felt his strokes. But when new, inexplicable sensations started budding in her, she pulled back, a little scared.
Opening the front door, she could hear his deep sigh behind her, and she almost turned around to face him again, but the doves were already calling out their hellos, so she continued her retreat.
Yet inside, she loved how she could still feel his lips on hers, still remember his touch on her back, her arms, and her waist. Trying to recall the exact words he had whispered to her before they kissed was more difficult, what with the piano banging, and Pete, drunk as a fiddler, was spouting Shakespeare. So she dashed upstairs, and finding an empty room toward the front of the house, pulled the lace curtain back to watch him ride away over the hill and into the darkness.
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