Hiram took his time answering. A strange expression came over his face, one Sarah had never seen before. It contained a combination of grit, resolve, and annoyance. “That’s enough, Becky. I’m going to Hangtown. Is that understood?”
Amid gasps of surprise, Hiram limped from the room.
Becky stared after him. “Well, did you ever!”
About time. Sarah followed after her brother and found him sitting on the porch steps. Without a word, she sat beside him.
Hiram cast a warning look in her direction. “You don’t have to say it. It was about time I stood up to my wife.” His expression softened. “And, yes, you had something to do with it.”
Sarah would have liked to discuss her part in his bold decision, but she had something more important to say. “I’ve thought it over. I’m coming with you.”
Her brother’s eyebrows raised high. “Really? That’s fine with me, but neither Ma nor Pa is going to like it. You may be twenty-nine, but Pa still thinks of you as his precious little girl who’s got to be sheltered from the big, bad world.”
“Even after all I’ve been through?”
“Yeah, even after all you’ve been through.” A small smile touched his lips. “That includes your little escapade helping the Chinese girl.”
“You know about that?”
“Did you think you could keep a secret in a town like Gold Creek? Of course, I knew. Everyone knew except Ma and Pa. And that crazy Au Fung, I hope.” He grew serious. “Ma won’t want you to go.”
“If I can help find Florrie, she’ll understand.” She grinned at her brother. “She’ll do anything to find her favorite daughter.”
Hiram ignored her attempt at humor. “Didn’t Jack McCoy say he was going to Hangtown?” He slanted an inquisitive glance. “Do you want to see him again?”
Leave it to her perceptive brother to ask a soul-wrenching question. She’d give him an honest answer. “Jack McCoy is out of my life forever. If I met him on the street, I’d pass him by without a word.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We are done forever.”
Chapter 13
“Almost there.” Hiram flicked the reins over the oxen and glanced at Sarah, sitting beside him. “Hangtown, dead ahead.”
She could hardly sit still. “Just think, Hiram, we might soon be seeing Florrie.”
“Let’s hope this journey hasn’t been for nothing.”
It hadn’t been easy. Pa hadn’t yet sold the oxen and wagon, so they were able to travel in relative comfort. Still, they’d left Mokelumne City nearly a week ago. The road leading into the Sierra Nevada Mountains became rougher as they traveled through huge groves of pines and evergreens, past streams full of icy water that had recently been snow. As they approached the main street of town, she grew ever more anxious. “What if she’s really here? What will we say?”
A flash of humor crossed Hiram’s face. “We might want to ask what she was doing in Hangtown serving beer.”
“Be serious.” She gave her brother a friendly nudge. “If what Mr. Cartwright said is true, then she must have been kidnapped or forced in some way.”
“We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”
Night was falling as they came to the main street of town. “Look how big it is, at least twice the size of Gold Creek,” Sarah remarked. Hiram drove the wagon slowly past stores of all descriptions lining both sides. A blacksmith’s shop, stable, butcher shop, two general stores, three banks, and countless hotels and saloons. As in Gold Creek, the street teemed with activity. Horses, buggies, and wagons jammed both lanes. Miners on foot crowded the wooden sidewalks. Men were everywhere, but like Gold Creek, women were scarce. As they drove, Sarah impatiently examined the sign on each saloon. El Dorado. Mansion House. The Oriental. And then—she clutched Hiram’s arm. “There on the left—The Gold Star Hotel & Saloon.”
“I see it.” Hiram tried to act his usual unruffled self, but the rasp of excitement in his voice gave him away. He pulled the wagon to a stop in an empty space not far from the wide-open double doors of the Gold Star. “You’re sure you want to do this right now? Maybe we should find a place to camp first, and then—”
“Now!” Sarah scrambled from the wagon and hastened across the muddy street, Hiram close behind. A piano tinkled as she walked through the doorway. She stopped to adjust her eyes to the dim, early evening light. The saloon was already more than half-full. Men sat at round, wooden tables playing poker, drinking their whiskey or beer. Across the room, a long, dark mahogany bar stretched from one wall to nearly the other. Two bartenders worked behind it. Could Florrie be working here today? Her gaze swept the room. Waiters were carrying huge trays of pitchers of beer to the tables. All men. Not a waitress among them.
They walked to the bar. “What’ll ya have?” asked the older of the bartenders, a heavyset man with a drooping mustache and a white apron covering his big belly.
“We don’t want a drink. We’re looking for someone.” Hiram pulled the tattered sketch of Florrie from his pocket and handed it to the bartender. “We’re looking for our sister. Have you seen her?”
The man behind the bar took his time examining the picture. “Hmmm.” He scratched his chin. Finally he looked up. “Sorry, can’t say that I have.”
“Her name is Florrie,” Sarah said. “We heard she was working here, that she was serving beer.”
The bartender shook his head and slapped the picture on the bar. “Haven’t seen her. She couldn’t have worked at the Gold Star. They hire only waiters, always have. The only women who work here are—”
“Jess, let me take a look.” The other bartender, a younger man with a fresh, clean-shaven face had been pouring beer into pitchers with an ear cocked to their conversation. He came over and picked up the picture. At first glance, his brows flickered. Sarah and Hiram exchanged anxious glances. Could it be he knew her?
The older bartender frowned. “We don’t know her, never saw her, right, Ed?”
Ed, the younger one, got a stubborn set to his chin. “I don’t see it that way, Jess. This here’s her family. If they want to know where she is, then we ought to tell them.”
Sarah’s heart leaped. “Then you know her?”
Ed looked up from the picture. “Her name’s Florrie?”
“Yes, Florrie!”
Jess, the older bartender, gave a careless shrug. “None of my business.” He walked away.
Sarah hardly noticed. She waited with bated breath for Ed to speak again.
“If her name’s Florrie, I know her.”
“Did she work here?” Hiram asked.
“She did, but only for a little while. She’s gone now. I can tell you where she is, though.”
“Please do.” Blood pounded in her temples. How she managed to get a word out, she didn’t know. She clutched Hiram’s arm. He, too, looked as if he was trying to control his emotions.
Ed continued, “It’s on the next street, a big, two story, wooden frame with a red door. She’s there.”
“Is she all right? She’s not sick or anything?”
“Far as I know, she’s fine.”
“Is there an address?” Hiram asked.
Ed got a strange look on his face. “You don’t need an address. Go one block over to Pacific Street. Turn right, look for the red door. That’s all I can tell you.” Abruptly, he turned and went back to pouring beer.
They made a quick exit from the Gold Star Saloon. With a springy bounce in her step, Sarah headed for the wagon. “I can’t believe this,” she called over her shoulder. “I never thought it would be this easy.”
Hiram followed close behind. “Neither did I. Only…”
“Only what?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Sarah.”
After she crossed the busy street, she turned to face him. “About what?”
Hiram’s face was unreadable. “I don’t know exactly, but brace yourself. You’d better be ready for an
ything.”
They had reached the house on Pacific Street and were approaching the front door when it burst open and a drunken man in gentleman’s clothing staggered out and down the steps. They stepped aside to let him pass and continued to the porch where a stern-faced, middle-aged woman met them at the door. She wore a fancy maid’s costume—starched white cap, black dress, frilly apron tied in a big bow in the back. She smiled at Hiram, caught sight of Sarah, and frowned. “What do you want?”
Sarah spoke up. “We’re looking for Florrie Bryan. Is she here?”
“No.”
The maid started to shut the door, but before she could, Hiram stuck his foot over the threshold. “Florrie Bryan is our sister. We know she’s here, and we want to see her.”
The maid hesitated, gave a curt nod, and swung the door wide. “Wait in the hall. I’ll tell Mrs. Northcutt you’re here.”
The heavy aroma of jasmine met Sarah’s nostrils as she and Hiram stepped into a marble-tiled entrance hall that had a wide, carpeted staircase leading to the second floor. Soft piano music played from somewhere, accompanied by the murmur of voices and tinkling glasses. Lips pursed with annoyance, the maid disappeared up the staircase. “What is this place?” Sarah asked.
Hiram nervously looked around. “I hope it’s not what I think it is.”
The piano music came from a room off the hallway. Sarah had to take a peek. She stepped close and peered into what must be the parlor. Oh, my. This wasn’t the modestly furnished room she expected. An expanse of plush red carpeting covered the floor. A large, crystal chandelier hung from the ornately carved ceiling. Gilded mirrors and gaudy paintings lined the walls, and rich, red velvet drapes covered the windows. A huge portrait hung behind a mahogany bar at one end of the room. In it, a beefy, completely nude woman lay in a languorous pose propped on one elbow, chin in hand, bemused smile playing on her ruby lips. Every man in the room was nicely dressed, no miner’s scroungy attire among them. Most of the women wore gaudy gowns, so low cut it was a wonder their bosoms weren’t totally exposed. A couple of women wore no gown at all, just a lacy chemise and ruffled garters. One was sitting on a gentleman’s lap, ruffling his hair.
Hiram peered over her shoulder, took one look, and pulled her back from the door. “I knew it,” he muttered. “Sarah, don’t look.”
She didn’t argue. “What is this place?”
“We’re in a brothel, a bordello, a house of ill repute, whatever you want to call it.”
A brothel? Goose flesh rippled up her back. She wanted to turn and run, but would do no such thing. “But what is Florrie doing here?”
Before he could answer, a large, florid-faced woman somewhere in her fifties appeared. She looked as if she was going to a fancy ball, her white hair swept into an elaborate coiffure, her black velvet gown embroidered with glittering spangles. She gave them a tight-lipped smile. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Northcutt, and you are?”
Sarah introduced herself and Hiram. “Florrie is our sister. We want to see her.” Why had this feeling of foreboding crept over her? She’d found Florrie, and that was wonderful, but who was this unfriendly woman, and what was going on?
“You want to see Florrie? Very well, I’ll find out if she wants to see you.” Mrs. Northcutt leveled a hostile gaze. “But I warn you, she may not. In which case, I shall ask you to leave.” Shoulders rigid with displeasure, she disappeared up the staircase.
Wordlessly, they waited in the hallway. Sarah couldn’t think what to say and neither could Hiram. Long minutes went by—five, ten—Sarah wasn’t sure. Twice someone knocked on the front door. Twice the maid let in a gentleman who headed straight to the parlor. At last Mrs. Northcutt came down the staircase, a frown on her face. “She says she’ll see you. Go up the stairs, two doors to the right. Don’t take too long. We’re going to be busy tonight.”
Sarah mounted the staircase, Hiram close behind. She ought to be thrilled and excited. Instead, she couldn’t shake the numb feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was wrong. At the second door to the right, they stopped and looked at each other. “I don’t know what to expect,” she whispered.
“That makes two of us. Here goes.” Hiram knocked sharply.
“Come in!”
Florrie’s voice. Hiram swung open the door. They stepped into a large, lavishly furnished bedroom that smelled of heavy jasmine perfume. Florrie stood in the center of the room dressed in a long, beautiful blue satin gown, hair flowing down her back. “Sarah, Hiram!” Before they could say a word, she flung herself into their arms, face wet with tears. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
For Sarah, the first few minutes passed in a blur. Amid her tears, Florrie couldn’t stop talking. She had missed them terribly, Ma and Pa, too. She’d feared she would never see them again, and how had they ever found her? Sarah had to wipe away her own tears. With Hiram’s help, she described their heartbreaking search, and how an old miner named Ethan Cartwright gave them the clue that helped find her. When the first wild exhilaration of their reunion began to wane, Florrie rang for a maid and ordered tea. Now the three sat at a small, round table with a velvet, red-tasseled cloth, sipping from teacups of delicate china that must have been very expensive indeed.
In all the excitement, Sarah hadn’t looked closely at her sister. Now, as she gazed at Florrie, she had to conceal her surprise. The old, thick-waisted Florrie with the pudgy figure was gone. Her fancy blue dress defined her now-slender waist and hips while its low-cut neckline revealed far more bosom than Ma would have approved. Her hair was different. The old Florrie never bothered much to fix it, just gathered it in a bun with no style at all. Now it cascaded in lovely dark waves down her back with little curls framing her face that… Oh, my God. Florrie’s wearing makeup. Those rosy cheeks couldn’t be natural. They had to be rouged. Those crimson lips couldn’t be natural, either. Ma would faint if she discovered a daughter of hers using makeup like some brazen hussy. And yet, Florrie looked so much better than Sarah had ever seen her. Not only her face and figure had improved, so had her attitude. No more slumping shoulders. Head high, shoulders back, she brimmed with a confidence she’d never had before. She still wasn’t beautiful and never would be, but the improvement was remarkable.
They spoke only in excited generalities until Hiram asked, “What happened, Florrie? Why did you disappear? Why did that Indian have your necklace? We got it back, you know.”
“You have my necklace? That’s wonderful. I’ll tell you what happened.” Florrie gazed toward the ceiling and sighed, as if she was dredging up bad memories. “It was the Indians who kidnapped me. That day, I’d gone for a walk in the woods. I’d gone farther than I thought when here came some Indians riding toward me. I tried to run, but it was too late. They grabbed me, bound my hands together, and made me ride behind one of them on his horse. I fought as best I could. I screamed and screamed but nobody heard. They were horribly rough. We rode for days—you can imagine how frightened I was—until finally one night I was able to escape. I was found by a man named Hannibal Palmer. You’ve heard of him? He owns this house and many others. He’s the one who brought me here to Hangtown. At first I was staying at the Gold Star Hotel. That’s where the old miner probably saw me. After a short time, I moved here, and I’ve been here ever since.”
Hiram leveled a piercing gaze at his sister. “Florrie, this is a whorehouse.”
She thrust out her chin. “I know that. I work here.”
Sarah gasped. “You’re admitting you work here as a…a…?”
“Sister of joy? Lady of the night? Prostitute? Yes, I admit it.” Florrie shifted her gaze away from direct contact with their eyes. “I had no choice. They forced me into it.”
Despite her shock, Sarah searched for words of comfort. She took her sister’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We’re here now, Florrie.” Never had she spoken more from her heart than at this moment. “Thank God, we found you. I’m horrified at what you’ve had to endure, but you’
re safe now.”
Hiram leaped to his feet. “Get your things. We’re getting out of here, and that Mrs. Northcutt—she’s the madam, isn’t she?—had better not try to stop us.”
Florrie remained seated. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?” Sarah asked. “You don’t have to worry about Ma and Pa. They’ll never know you worked in this awful place. Nobody will know. We’ll make up a story. Maybe you didn’t escape the Indians until just today. Maybe you got hit on the head and lost your memory. Maybe—”
“Stop.” Florrie held up a restraining hand. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
Florrie heaved a resigned sigh. “What you don’t understand is I don’t want to go home. I like it here. I like doing what I do.”
Sarah looked at Hiram. His mouth hung open in amazement. She stared at her sister until she could find words. “I can’t believe this. Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, you did.” Florrie flung her head back, a gesture of defiance Sarah well remembered from the old days when her stubborn sister insisted on having her way. “All my life I was the ugly sister.” Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Florrie continued on. “Don’t argue, it’s true. I lived in your shadow, Sarah. You were the one with the pretty face and figure. You were the one with all the beaux. I was the ugly one nobody paid any attention to. You think I didn’t care?” Florrie arose from her chair, walked to the center of the room, and spread her arms. “That’s all behind me now. Look at me!” She performed a pirouette, her satin skirt swirling about her in graceful folds. “I’m beautiful now. They give me stylish clothes. A maid does my hair. And yes, Sarah, I saw that look you gave me. I wear makeup now, and love it. Everyone loves me here. I dine on gourmet meals, drink the most expensive champagne. My steady customers are all fine gentlemen who pay a lot of money for the pleasure of my company.”
“Oh, Florrie.” Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth. She could think of nothing to say.
Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) Page 14