“I’m not hungry,” she softly replied.
“I brought you your meal.” She heard him set the tray on the table by her bed. “You must keep up your strength. Madame has given you a reprieve for tonight, but tomorrow you’ll be expected to get back to work.”
He left the room and shut the door behind him.
Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. If only James had shot her when he shot Al and Gilbert. Then she could be with them.
She released her breath, another tear falling down her face. She imagined, just for a moment, that she was back in the cabin nestled away in the wilderness. She’d be rocking Gilbert to sleep in the chair, warm as the small fire in the cookstove continued burning. Al would come in after tending to the animals and give her a smile that spoke volumes of his love for her.
She swallowed as more tears came. It couldn’t be true. Al and Gilbert couldn’t be dead. But why would James lie about something like that? He had murdered Hazel. Why wouldn’t he murder others?
He could have murdered her, too. He didn’t have to sell her back to Madame. Maybe he wanted money, but what was eighty dollars when he stood to inherit much more than that?
Maybe he told her he killed Al and Gilbert so she wouldn’t run back to Rapid City. But then what would Al think since she was gone?
She opened her eyes and sat up straight. Maybe Al would think she went back here, to the brothel. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. That was silly. He’d never believe she’d want to return here. It was a horrible existence. One that no woman should ever know.
But what if he didn’t know that? He’d never been in one. He didn’t know what it was like here.
She stood up, her legs stiff from the hours she’d spent sitting in the chair. She worked the kinks out as she paced the room. Maybe they weren’t dead. She never saw their bodies. Never heard gunshots. She was unconscious the whole time, and when she woke up, she was on the horse.
She clasped her hands together and shook her head. No. It was impossible. They couldn’t still be alive. Wouldn’t she know it if they were? Wouldn’t she feel something? Was someone supposed to know if someone they loved died?
She tried to remember how it was with her father when he died. He’d been working on a railway so her mother didn’t know right away. But Sadie couldn’t remember if her mother suspected something was wrong or not. It happened so long ago.
It was wishful thinking. That’s all it was. She stopped pacing and turned to the door. But she never saw the bodies. She never heard the gunshots. If there was a chance, even a remote one, wasn’t it worth it to check?
Decision made, she went to the door and opened it, checking the hallway. One of the prostitutes was taking a man to her room. Sadie quickly put her head back in her room and closed the door almost all the way so they wouldn’t see her as they passed. She held her hand over her nose so she wouldn’t smell the woman’s perfume or the smoke and brandy on the man’s breath.
When they had entered the woman’s room, she slipped out of hers and tiptoed down the hallway, ignoring the glaring red carpet as much as possible. She made it to the top of the steps and listened as the men and women laughed downstairs. She could hear Madame offering the gentlemen more brandy and telling Jefferson to retrieve more cigars.
Sadie debated the best way to proceed. If everyone was distracted down there, they might not notice her. The parlor didn’t lead directly to the door. The door was in the narrow hallway. But someone might see her. She glanced back down the hall where her room was. If she had something to climb down, she’d use her window. Being as it was, she didn’t dare in case she broke a bone.
She’d just have to chance it. Taking a deep breath, she slowly went down the stairs, mindful to listen for anyone who might be slipping into the hallway upstairs or leaving the parlor. So far, so good. Everyone was content to stay where they were for the moment.
She picked up her pace and made it by the parlor door, but just as she reached the front door, Jefferson called out, “Going somewhere, Sadie?”
She grabbed the knob and flung the door open, but before she could even make it down the first step, Jefferson’s hand wrapped around her arm. Hard.
“Nice try,” he said and pulled her back inside. He shut the door and leaned against it. “You know you can’t go out there. From now on, you’ll never leave this place. We won’t be taking our chances.”
“What’s going on?” Madame Eleanor asked as she hurried out of the parlor. Her eyes widened. “I should have known.” Slowing her steps, she approached them, crossing her arms. “Haven’t you learned anything from your little escapade?”
“You don’t understand,” Sadie replied, wishing Jefferson would loosen his grip. “I’m a married woman now. I have no business being here.”
Madame chuckled. “You have every business being here. I paid for you. Twice, might I add. First with your mother. Then from the man who used you and got tired of you.”
“He wasn’t my husband.” Sadie tried to pull her arm away from Jefferson, but he only tightened his grip. She winced but stopped fighting against him. “Do the decent thing and let me go back to my husband and child.”
“The ones you claimed were murdered?” Madame asked.
“The man who brought me here said he killed them, but…”
“But what?”
She glanced from Madame to Jefferson, already knowing how ridiculous the whole thing seemed to them. “I never saw their bodies. I never heard the gunshots. I didn’t confirm it.”
At that, Jefferson’s lips curled up. “Let that be a lesson to you. Make sure someone actually is a murderer before spouting off that they are.”
His fingers pinching her arm, he stormed over to the stairs, dragging her along. “Please, just let me go back and see. I need to know,” she pleaded.
“It’s too late for that,” Madame snapped. “I paid a handsome fee for you. I don’t take the loss of money lightly.”
“Why is it always about money for you?” Sadie demanded and fought in earnest to get away from Jefferson.
“Restrain her,” Madame told him. He raised his free arm to strike Sadie, but Madame shook her head and lowered her voice. “Not her face. Men will overlook bruises everywhere but the face.”
Jefferson put his arm down and shoved Sadie at the stairs. She tumbled against them.
“Is there a problem, Madame Eleanor?” a man asked.
Sadie glanced over her shoulder at the thin figure with a handlebar mustache. He left the parlor and walked over to them. She didn’t remember his name. Not that she ever cared to know any of their names. It was easier if she didn’t.
“Not at all,” Madame replied with a smile. “The girl’s had a little too much to drink and slipped. That’s all.”
“I remember her,” he said in interest, his gaze focusing on her.
Sadie looked away and stood up. At least Jefferson wasn’t holding her arm anymore. She rubbed it, wondering how long it was going to be sore.
“She was away for a while but has come back,” Madame said. She went over to him and gestured to the parlor. “Care to have another brandy?”
“I’ve had enough, thanks.” His gaze went back to Sadie. “She’s lovely to look at. I would like to be with her tonight.”
Sadie bristled. She never liked it when a man paid her a compliment like that, except for Al. Daring to make eye contact with him, she spat, “I’m married.”
Jefferson took her arm again, and though he appeared to be gentle, the grip was tight. He led her up the stairs. She tripped another time, but he didn’t slow his pace. By the time they were at her room, he threw her onto the floor and shut the door behind him.
“There will be no more of this nonsense,” he seethed. “You have greatly upset Madame.”
“I don’t care,” she yelled even as tears filled her eyes.
“You should care. Think about what you’re doing. You have no money. All you have are
the clothes on your back. Just how long do you think you’ll live out there?”
She wiped her tears away, her face hot from a mixture of anger and humiliation. In her haste to leave this place, she hadn’t given any thought to money. He was right. She would have made it to the train station and realized she couldn’t get a ticket.
Jefferson muttered something under his breath but left the room, leaving her. And this time, it was dark since the sun had set. Shivering, she ran over to the small table by her bed and searched for the matches. Once she found one, she lit the wick in the kerosene lamp and searched the room for anyone who might be hiding in the shadows. It was unlikely, of course, but possible that someone had crept in here while she was gone. Not all men wanted to pay and found a way into her room without Madame or Jefferson knowing.
She relaxed after she searched the room and realized she was alone. She set the kerosene lamp on the dresser. Leaning against the dresser, she put her face in her hands. There was no way she was getting out of this. James had been very clever. Too late, she realized she made the grave error in not demanding to see if Al and Gilbert were really dead. But even if she had, he had her so heavily sedated for most of the trip that it’d been hard to think clearly. And now she was here, mentally going through every chance she’d missed at getting away from him.
His plan had worked. She was sufficiently trapped. She had no money, and there was no way Madame would let her go to one of her customers outside the brothel. No doubt tomorrow, Jefferson would be putting a lock on her door from the outside so she couldn’t leave it without their permission.
Leaving right after Hazel died had been a huge risk. It’d been the most daring thing she’d ever done. And not all risks paid off. She’d known it when she took the chance and ran to the train station. She let out a long sigh and lowered her hands. This small room would be all she’d know from this moment on. Trapped. James’ plan had worked perfectly. She had no way of getting to Al, and Al would believe she returned—willingly—to this place.
No wonder Hazel hadn’t made it. Sadie could only guess the details of Hazel’s life, but she had enough of the pieces to know she’d faced a formidable enemy. She wiped away another tear. Did the doctor ever find out who she was? Did he send word to Hazel’s family in Atlanta? Or was Hazel buried in the cemetery nearby with no name or year of birth to mark her stone?
The door opened and she glanced over in time to see Madame. Madame entered and quietly shut the door behind her. Her back against the door, she looked at Sadie. “That little display down there was in bad taste, Sadie. I won’t tolerate that kind of behavior again. I’d bring one of the men up here tonight to remind you of why you’re here, but men don’t like it when prostitutes cry. It makes them feel guilty. Thanks to your little outburst down there, the gentleman in the hallway decided to leave.” She frowned at her. “And he took a lot of money with him.”
Sadie turned her gaze from Madame. “I won’t stop crying. I should be with my husband and child.”
“It’s not good to live in delusions. You need to accept the fact that you’re a prostitute and you’ll always be one.” Sadie shook her head, but Madame clucked her tongue. “I can see this is going to be a lot of work. You’ve forgotten everything Jefferson painstakingly taught you.”
“Painstakingly taught me?” Sadie snapped, looking back at her despite the fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “I was the one who went through the pain of everything he did.”
“He’s much better than others in the business. At least he told you about the cooking oil and ways to distract yourself so you didn’t have to think about what you were doing. He even gives certain gentlemen sheaths to use.” She pointed at Sadie and approached her. “You should be thankful for all of that. Before I had him in my employment, my ladies didn’t live as long as they do now, nor were they as healthy. I run the cleanest brothel in town. Men pay good money to come here because they know that. Would you rather go to Madame Marsha’s or be down at the saloon?”
“I’d rather be home,” Sadie whispered.
“This is your home,” Madame snapped then rolled her eyes. “It’s just like having you here when you were a child. All those lessons have been lost on you. Eighty dollars was too much to pay.” She groaned and gave an irritated shake of her head. “Well, it’s too late for regrets. All we can do is move forward. Tomorrow Jefferson will start retraining you.”
Madame’s meaning took a moment to sink in and Sadie shook her head.
“You’re here to please the men,” Madame said, her voice firm. “While they enjoy looking at you, there’s more to it than just showing them your pretty face.” She motioned to the tray of untouched food. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“I can’t,” Sadie replied.
Madame’s eyes narrowed at her. “You’re not with child, are you?”
“No.” And even if she was, Sadie would never tell the truth because then Madame would bring Jefferson in to ‘resolve’ that inconvenient problem.
She scanned Sadie’s body. “You don’t look it. When was the last time you had your cycle?”
Sadie gulped. How she hated answering these kinds of questions. “Twenty days ago,” she forced out.
“Then we’ll know in a few days.” She picked up the tray. “You won’t get anything to eat until tomorrow morning.”
The last thing Sadie wanted to do was eat, even if Madame did hire one of the best cooks in Omaha.
“It’s like starting over,” Madame grumbled before she left the room.
Sadie placed her hand over her stomach, already sick. She couldn’t be with another man. There was no way she could get through it. Not after she’d been with Al. Not after everything he’d taught her about the love that was possible between a man and a woman.
As soon as Jefferson put his hands on her, she was going to throw up. She just knew it. And then Madame would be right. It would be as if they were starting all over again because she had the hardest time being able to get through those lessons without losing her breakfast.
Closing her eyes, she crumbled to the floor and gave into the urge to cry once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Al pushed his way off the train. Despite his exhaustion, he had to keep going. He wasn’t going to stop until he got Sadie back. It wasn’t going to be easy. He might not know anything about brothels, but he doubted the owner would be willing to just hand Sadie over to him.
“Excuse me,” he told an old man when he bumped into him on the way down the steps off the train.
Once his feet hit the platform, he ran over to one of the baggage handlers.
“Sir, may I please interrupt?” he asked as someone took the brass tag from the baggage handler.
The baggage handler and the man turned to him.
“I’m in a hurry,” Al explained. “All I need to know is where something is.”
The man nodded and tipped his hat. “Go ahead. I’m done.”
As he left, Al looked back at the baggage handler. “Do you know where I can find Madame Eleanor’s Brothel?”
The baggage handler rolled his eyes. “You don’t have an emergency.”
The baggage handler turned away from him, but Al grabbed his arm. “Yes, I do. My wife was abducted and taken there. I need to get her.”
The baggage handler shook his arm away and straightened his uniform. “If you’re going to lie, the least you could do is come up with a believable story.”
“It is the truth. It happened…” Al stopped himself. The man didn’t need to know the details. “Fine. Whether you believe me or not, can you tell me where to go or should I report you to your superior for not taking care of a patron?” Al held up his ticket stub to show him he’d been on the train.
The man stiffened. “There’s no need for that. You can find the brothel six blocks from here.” He pointed to the left. “Go that way three blocks, take a right, go two more blocks, and take a left. It’s on the right.”
Al hesitat
ed for a moment, wondering if this uppity young man had been there. He sure seemed to know how to find it easily enough. Maybe he’d been with Sadie. Shaking off the image, he mumbled a thanks—only because society dictated he show his manners—and hurried down the platform.
Keeping in mind the man’s directions, Al ran down the boardwalk, lanterns lighting his way as he went. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a man on a horse galloping down the street. Irritated, he stopped and waited for the man to ride by before crossing it. There weren’t nearly this many people in Rapid City, and it annoyed him to no end that he had to either dodge or wait for so many. The longer it took him to get to the brothel, the greater the chance that he’d find someone in bed with his wife. And if that happened…
He shook off the mental image from his mind. No. He wouldn’t use his gun to hurt anyone. He’d only use it to get her out of there. That was it. It was a threat. Nothing more.
By the time he reached the brothel, the adrenaline pumping through his body prompted him to bang on the door. Above the door was a sign that read Madame Eleanor’s Establishment. He grimaced. Why didn’t these people just call this place what it was? Why pretty it up as if it was something respectable?
He banged on the door again, and this time it opened right away. An older man in a well-dressed suit stood in front of him. Before waiting for him to speak, Al said, “I came for Sadie Gro…Miller.”
The man snorted in amusement. “What man doesn’t come for the prettiest one we got?” He clasped his hands in front of him. “I’m afraid she’s not available tonight. You’ll have to wait about a week. In the meantime, we have other ladies—”
“I’m not here as a customer,” Al snapped and shoved him aside so he could enter the place. She was here. That was all he needed to know. “I’m her husband. Where is she?”
“Jefferson, what’s all the commotion about?” a woman wearing a modest dress asked as she came into the entryway.
“I’m Sadie Miller’s husband,” Al told her. “Where’s my wife?”
“A mad man,” Jefferson replied with a shrug. “Seems like it’s one of those days around here.”
The Mail Order Bride's Deception Page 15