by Zina Abbott
“Where are we going, Fancy?”
“Where do you want to go, sugar? The only reason I told Clyde I need some things was to get you out of there.”
“Thank you.” Tears welled up in Lorena’s eyes. “I’ve been working up the courage for weeks to ask for what he owes me. First, he said he’d settle up at the end of the year. In January, he said he was busy and to come back.” She bit her lip. “How much did you hear, Fancy?”
“Enough to know you’re not married to that disgusting worm you came to town with.” She faced Lorena. “It true he’s your brother-in-law?”
Lorena closed her eyes and sighed in resignation. “Yes. I was married to his brother—half-brother, actually. After both Edward and my father died, Timothy turned up on my doorstep and offered to escort me to my sister’s home. He is family, so I thought –” She glanced at Fancy.
Fancy studied her through half-lidded eyes. “How come you didn’t tell me you’re a fancy woman, too, Lorena? You didn’t trust me with your secret?”
“It-It was never my intent to enter into any kind of intimate relationship. I did not do so willingly. I had no idea what he had in mind until it was too late. Then, when I tried to get away, he kept finding me and –” She swallowed. “After a while, I couldn’t take the pain any longer. I stopped struggling.” Lorena stopped walking and pivoted until she faced the other woman. “Especially after you shared your story, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, Fancy. I feel so ashamed about the whole thing, and I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
“No need feeling ashamed, sugar. Far as God’s concerned, it’s on that slug, Timothy Mayfield, not you.” Fancy began walking once more. “He’s gone now. Are you leaving Salina when you get your money from Clyde?”
Lorena parted her lips and then hesitated. “I’d like to. I’m trusting you, Fancy, because I don’t want any of these details to get around. I especially don’t want Clyde to suspect anything. Timothy paid for my room through April, because he thinks he will be back by then. I hope, once the weather warms a little, to have enough to leave before he arrives. My problem is, I need to give most of my money to my sister. She and her husband are at risk of losing their farm. I can’t let that happen. If they lose it, I’ll have no place to which I can run. All of us will be without a roof over our heads.”
Fancy harrumphed. “Seems to me, sugar, if you want to get away from Timothy, you need to see to yourself first. You let your sister and her man work out their own problems.”
“You’re probably right.” Except I have other obligations. “To get away, I need Clyde to pay what he owes me. I’ve kept a careful record of everything.” Lorena pulled her journal out of her reticule and showed Fancy the pages. Each line held a date, a notation, what was earned or paid, and the running total. “Before the war, Edward, my late husband, worked as an accounting clerk. He showed me how to do keep a running tally like this.”
Fancy looked it over and smiled. “That’s a lot more complicated than we get with Clyde. We each keep a paper and make a hashmark every time we take a customer up. Clyde does the same. At the end of the night, we compare. The end of the week, he pays us.”
Lorena shook her head. “I don’t understand why he won’t pay me. He did the first month after Timothy left. He hasn’t since then. He keeps putting me off, saying he’s holding it for safekeeping.”
Fancy glanced at Lorena. “That doesn’t sound like Clyde.” She lowered her voice, as if talking to herself. “I wonder what he’s up to?”
“Fancy, do you know where the post office is? I’d like to see if I have any mail.”
“Sure, sugar. It’s just a block over in the mercantile.”
Lorena approached the woman behind the counter in the back of the store. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Lorena Mayfield. I understand your husband is the postmaster?”
The woman nodded and smiled. “He is. We both work the mail. Do you have something you would like posted?”
“Not today, but perhaps soon. I’ve come to see if you have any mail for me or-or Timothy Mayfield.”
“Mayfield, you say?” The woman scrunched her forehead. “You’re from The Stockade Saloon, aren’t you?”
Lorena swallowed. “Mr. Mayfield took out a room for us there. I’m living there temporarily while he is gone on a business trip.”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t have anything for you today, Mrs. Mayfield. Mr. Abernathy collects all the mail for everyone at the saloon. He was by just yesterday. I think I had a letter from Carthage for you in the bunch he picked up. Or maybe it was a week ago I saw your name.”
Wide-eyed, Lorena stared at the woman. “I never asked you, neither did I authorize you, to hand my mail to anyone else besides me. Do you mean to tell me you give people’s mail to just anyone who happens by?”
An indignant expression on her face, the woman stiffened her posture. “Of course, not. But, as a courtesy, we allow those who live or work in the same building to pick up the mail for everyone else there.”
“I suppose that might work if everyone involved is honest and ethical. However, I do not wish my mail to be collected by Mr. Abernathy or anyone else. Please do not give my letters to him again.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Are you implying Mr. Abernathy is not honest and ethical?”
Fancy stepped closer to the counter. She grazed Lorena’s arm with her fingertips. “Sugar…” Her tone held a warning.
Lorena softened her voice. “What I am saying is, I have received no letters from Mr. Abernathy.”
“Perhaps he was just busy. When you see him –”
“I saw him yesterday evening. I spoke with him in his office this morning. He said nothing about having any mail for me. Draw your own conclusions, madam, but I am telling you now, I do not authorize the post office to hand over any mail addressed to Mayfield to anyone but me without my express written permission. I will collect my own mail.”
The woman’s mouth gaped open and she threw her hands in the air. “What do you want me to say to Clyde when he asks if you have any mail?”
Aware two women on the other side of the store had turned their attention toward the conversation at the counter, Lorena leaned forward and spoke even more quietly. “I want you to tell him you do not have any to give him. It is the truth, because you do not have my permission to give any of my mail to him. Would you like my instructions in writing? Or perhaps I should speak to your husband, since he is the one who actually holds the postmaster position?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll hold all the Mayfield mail here for you. I would suggest, though, you ask Clyde about your mail he already picked up. I’m sure it just slipped his mind to give it to you.”
Lorena assumed the most gracious expression of which she was capable and smiled. Time to retreat. “I’m sure he did. I will do as you suggest and ask him. Thank you for letting me know about my letters.”
Once they left the mercantile and walked far enough to not be seen through the windows, Fancy shook her head. “Whew! You showed a side of you I’ve never seen before, sugar. Just you be careful about crossing Clyde. It’s best to play him so he thinks he’s still in control.”
Lorena pressed the knuckles of one hand to her lips. “I doubt I can do that. However, I do intend to ask him about my letters.”
Fancy twisted her lips side to side as she stared forward. “Maybe, sugar, if your mail is that important, you should think about sending and receiving it another way.”
Her eyes wide and eyebrows raised, Lorena stared at Fancy. “Like how?”
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, sugar, but some of our customers work for the stagecoach companies.”
Lorena shook her head. “You know I don’t get to know the customers, Fancy. I don’t go out front any more than I have to because I’m afraid one of them will get the wrong idea about why I’m there.”
Fancy smirked and softly laughed. “You mean, they might think you’ll take them upstairs like we do?”
&nbs
p; Feeling the heat rise in her face, Lorena turned away. “No offense, Fancy, but, yes. For me, it’s bad enough…” She stopped and pressed her fingers to her lips. As she started walking once more, she stared at her shoes as they met the boardwalk.
“No offense taken, sugar. I know you weren’t brought up to accept this kind of arrangement. But, those stagecoach drivers, sugar, they help carry the mail to the towns with stations. I’ll bet, if you make friends with one of them, they might take your letters to a different post office to mail. You could give them a permission letter like you talked about back there. You know, so they can pick up your mail and bring it to you. It’s got to be someone who isn’t beholden to Clyde, though.”
Lorena shook her head. “I don’t know anyone like that, Fancy. Besides, any of them who come to the saloon…I suspect they would side more with Clyde than me.”
“We’ll see, sugar. Let’s walk back to the saloon so you can ask about that letter.”
Once the two women entered the back door of the saloon, Lorena came to an abrupt halt to avoid colliding with Clyde as he exited his office.
His face wearing disapproval, Clyde glanced between the two. “It’s about time you two got back here.”
Fancy smiled wide and patted her reticule. “Don’t you worry, sugar, I got everything I need for now. I’m on my way upstairs and will be back down before you know it.”
While Fancy walked toward the stairs, Lorena turned to Clyde and held out her hand. “I would like my mail, please.”
Clyde placed his hands on his hips and leaned toward her. “When I have mail for people here, I give it to them.”
Lorena still held enough anger from her earlier encounter not to be willing to allow Clyde to intimidate her. She pressed her lips and clenched her teeth. “Please check again, Mr. Abernathy. The postmistress just informed me that within the last week, you picked up a letter for me—from Carthage. She said others have arrived, also. I would like to have them.”
“I’m busy now, Mrs. Mayfield. It’s Friday night.”
“I’m not that busy, Mr. Abernathy. I have enough time before it gets dark to walk about town and find the county sheriff’s office. I know tampering with the mail is a federal matter, but perhaps he can tell me how to contact the federal marshal for this area.”
Clyde narrowed his eyes and bent until his face came within inches of Lorena’s. “Are you threatening me?”
As she fought the quaking that threatened to overtake her body, Lorena’s breaths heaved. Don’t back down. Take courage from being in the right. “No. I’m asking for my mail. All of it. I find it difficult to believe my sister would not have sent more than one letter. The last one I received was dated the end of November.”
As he stood to his full height, Clyde exhaled. “Wait here.” He opened the door to his office and slammed it behind him. Several minutes later, he reappeared and shoved two letters at Lorena. “Here. I must have misplaced them.”
Lorena nodded in acknowledgement as she stuffed the letters in her pocket. “Thank you.”
“Now, tend to your duties in the kitchen or find something you can do out front. I don’t have any more time to waste on you today.”
.
.
.
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Chapter 6
~o0o~
March 11, 1866
L orena hurried in the back door of the saloon and fled upstairs to her room. She knew she must quickly change out of the best gown she owned and wore to church each Sunday. Clyde expected her to resume her work in the kitchen as soon as she returned. He never passed up the opportunity to harangue her about the time which, according to him, she wasted each Sunday.
Timothy had not allowed her to attend church. More than once, he mocked her. “Don’t you think it is a little hypocritical, you attending church while living with a man you are not married to?” Although she dared not say the words out loud, more and more, the thought had crossed her mind: Whose fault is that? Our living arrangement was not my choice.
The second Sunday after Timothy left, Lorena decided it was time to return to church. She learned the town had been founded by Presbyterians, and the Presbyterian church was the first one established in Salina. The congregants met in a member’s store. Although it was not the faith of her youth, she attended in order to hear the gospel preached and to enjoy the peace that came with the hymns and prayers. She felt too guilty to fully participate in any fellowship activities, but at least she could worship. Perhaps the Lord might appreciate and find a shred of forgiveness if she demonstrated she had not completely forgotten Him. She arrived just before the meeting started, sought a seat in the back, and slipped out as soon as the final prayer ended.
Unfortunately, Clyde did not approve of her attending church. He first objected that she had not attended when Timothy was there. Then, he objected about her being away during the hours she usually cleaned the main room of the saloon. She countered each of his objections with solutions. Sunday was not as busy of a day. She could perform her work either before or after the time she needed for church. She could work later than usual so she got all her hours in. Clyde grudgingly allowed her to go, but he found ways to criticize her or make derogatory remarks about her choice every Sunday. Every. Sunday.
Assured no one stood outside her door where they might hear, she allowed herself to set free her sobs and tears of frustration. After several minutes, she found her handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose. Stop it. You are not enduring the level of persecution experienced by the early saints in Rome.
After changing, Lorena returned downstairs to the kitchen. Sabrina and Rosa both sat at the table, their plates showing evidence they had eaten from the brunch buffet she set out that morning before leaving. She forced a smile on her face. “Good morning, ladies. Do you have enough coffee, or do I need to make more?”
Rosa laughed. “Not for me. If I drink any more, I’ll spend more time running for the outhouse than out on the floor.” She sighed. “I wish we could persuade Clyde to buy my cacao. I prefer it to coffee or tea. I will even make it myself, if he would just buy it.”
Lorena smiled at her. “Perhaps it isn’t easy to find up here. If he does buy some, if you will show me how, I’ll be happy to learn to make it.”
“Si. It is not hard.”
Lorena set the teakettle on to boil so the three women would have their tea to fill their shot glasses since they were not allowed to drink liquor on the job. She checked the soup bones with meat attached she had put on to simmer before she left that morning. It was now time to fish them out to cool while she chopped the vegetables to go in the broth. By the time she added the meat chunks and seasonings and the pot simmered, the soup would be ready for the four of them for dinner. She was probably the first to eat, since she made a point to finish downstairs before escaping to her room for the night. During the evening, one at a time, the others would wander back into the kitchen and grab a bowl from the pot she left on the back of the stove to stay warm.
“Did Fancy already eat, or is she still in her room?”
“She’s already been here and left.” As she pushed hair out of her face, Sabrina sighed. “I don’t know how that woman gets by on so little sleep. People have no idea how exhausting it is to work on your back the way we do.”
Like she usually did upon hearing comments of that nature, Lorena ignored what was said. Something told her, if she reacted negatively, the others might make even more statements like that just to get a rise from her.
“I do prefer it to the job you’re doing.” Sabrina smiled and studied Lorena. “You do know, don’t you, I used to work in the kitchen before you came? It paid so little, I asked Clyde if I could take a few customers upstairs so I could earn more. He told me to get a better gown and he would let me go out front to see what I could do. Fancy loaned me that bright pink one I wear a lot. After you came and I could leave the kitchen behind, I bought it from her.”
Lorena swallowed and
sought words that did not sound judgmental. “And you don’t mind taking men to your room to…”
Her flyaway brown hair going every which way, Sabrina shook her head. “No. I like the money. It’s more than I can earn doing anything else. As long as I do a good job for Clyde, he leaves me alone.” She snorted. “Not like that no-good husband I used to have. Before him, my family treated me like I was their slave.” She smiled at Lorena. “I’m glad you’re in the kitchen. You do a better job here than I did.”
“Thank you.”
“You are the best thing that has happened for us, Señora Mayfield.”
Her spirit lightened, Lorena turned to Rosa. “Thank you. Knowing you ladies appreciate my efforts means so much to me.” Yes, I am Señora Mayfield. She thinks it is because of Timothy, but it is Edward who made me Señora Mayfield. Lorena pulled out the ingredients for biscuits and stirred up a batch. Once baked, she would leave them in a covered pan on the shelf above the stove to stay warm.
After Sabrina and Rosa left the kitchen and Lorena finished her work there, she barely finished her own bowl of soup when Fancy entered the kitchen walking at a faster gait than usual.
“Come here, sugar. I want to show you something. He might be the answer to your problem.”
Lorena looked up and blinked. “My problem?” Which one? I have so many.
“You know, sugar, the one with your mail. You said Clyde gave you two letters he’s been holding, but you’re pretty sure you should have received more mail, right?”
“Yes. I’m almost positive.” Surely, I would have heard from at least one of the men I wrote to. Even if they did not think me a suitable match as a wife, I would think they would have had the courtesy to write back and say they made other arrangements.
“There’s a man out there. He doesn’t come in very often, but he’s been here a few times. He used to come Friday nights, but the last two times he’s come on Sundays. Sits at the bar and nurses a whiskey or two, and then he leaves. We’ve all tried to get him upstairs, but he doesn’t want any part of us.”