by Zina Abbott
Shortly after Lorena left the room again, Clyde walked over and handed a drink to him. “On the house.” He sat in the chair once again and motioned his head in the direction of the back room. “She’ll be available next month.”
He summoned every bit of self-control he possessed not to react. In spite of all the efforts to solicit his business, Eustace had never taken one of the working girls upstairs. Why did the man make a point to tell him Lorena would soon be one of them? He raised an eyebrow and stared at Clyde. He waited for him to clarify his meaning.
“She’s a widow now. Found out not long ago her husband was one of three men killed in an ambush on the other side of Cheyenne Wells. Her rent is paid only until the end of the month. I’ve had to cut back on her hours in the kitchen, so she’s been looking for other work.” He paused and grinned. “She won’t find it outside this saloon. She doesn’t want to end up in the street selling herself in the back alleys, so she’s decided that, starting the first of May, she’ll be working the floor and upstairs.”
Eustace doubted the man needed to cut back on the kitchen hours. He suspected Clyde had an ulterior motive behind depriving her of her current means of earning a living. Eustace slid into his laziest Southern drawl. “Mr. Abernathy, you are telling me your employee’s personal business because?”
The man grunted and responded with a knowing stare. “I know you haven’t taken any of these other girls upstairs, but I’ve seen you watch her. I’m betting, if I give you a good enough deal, you’ll go with her.”
“And why would you be interested in giving me a good deal to bed one of your whores?” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Fancy saunter over and lean against the bar directly behind Clyde. Sabrina soon joined Fancy. They both had approached more silently than any scout he had ever known to sneak up on an enemy position during the war.
Clyde shook his head. “Working the front of the saloon will be new to her. She’ll be off-putting around men for a while. Once she gets comfortable, she’ll do fine.”
Eustace shrugged one shoulder. “What does that have to do with me?”
“She’s from the South. You being a Southerner, I figured you’d know how to sweet-talk her, get her loosened up. You know—teach her to be more…inviting.”
Eustace had not known whether to feel complimented or insulted. If he ever knew how to sweet-talk a woman, he doubted, in his current state of being, he could do so now. Still, his curiosity demanded he find out the terms of the “special offer” the saloon owner had in mind. “I’m listening.”
Wearing a knowing expression, Clyde grinned like a man who caught a prize fish on his hook. “You’re here a lot of Sundays. Sundays are a relatively slow night. For the price of one visit, you can have her all night, from the time you get here until morning.”
To buy time, Eustace looked away and rolled his tongue across his top teeth. He returned his gaze to Clyde and focused on the man’s eyes. What is he really up to? “For how many Sundays?” He watched Clyde study him.
“I might let you have a second Sunday under those terms. Depends on how good you help her get friendly with other customers.”
Or you might be saying that to sucker me in. Eustace knew he should refuse the offer. It was the only decent thing to do. He tried to reconcile the woman he saw leave a church service that morning with the one who planned to start prostituting herself at the start of next month.
Yes, he lusted after her. He wanted to take her to his bed. He wanted her to respond to him. If she had decided to work the upstairs until she found someone who offered her marriage, why should he not be one of the men who went up with her? He had agreed to help her. Would she accept him taking her to his bed for an entire night as a form of help?
Then again, if he declined, Clyde would find someone else to bed her. “I can only come the weekends my boss is at the station to cover it. Unless something happens to prevent it, I’ll be here in two weeks.”
Clyde turned away from Eustace only to discover the two women standing close enough behind him to have heard every word. “What do you two think you’re doing standing around instead of working?”
Eustace watched Sabrina immediately turn from the bar and scramble across the room. As for Fancy, she stayed and lazily smiled at Clyde.
“Why, sugar, I’m just waiting for my glass of tea so I can walk over and talk to those two gents over there, see what I can get out of them.” She turned to the bartender. “You got any tea up front for us, sugar, or do I need to ask someone to go to the kitchen to brew some?”
Clyde cranked his head around long enough to see the corner table flanked by two men before he jerked his head back. “Don’t get smart with me, Fancy. We both know those two are nothing but dead weight taking up space. They barely buy enough booze to justify me allowing them to stay in here. Now, make yourself scarce.”
“Whatever you say, sugar. I’ll go to the kitchen and check on that tea.”
As soon as Clyde turned his back, Eustace kept a straight face as Fancy locked her gaze on his. She glanced at the back of Clyde’s head and smirked before she caught his eye and winked. She slowly sauntered toward the back of the building. He guessed she intended to let him know she and Sabrina deliberately listened to the deal Clyde made with him, including the details of the terms. He doubted they did so to protect his interests; they listened for Lorena’s sake.
Fancy returned to the room. Carrying a glass half-full of tea, she walked straight over to him. She pulled the chair Clyde had vacated next to him, sat down, and walked her fingertips up his arm. “You know you hurt my feelings, sugar. Here I’ve worked all this time at trying to get your attention, and first chance you get, you choose someone else.” She leaned toward him and ran her fingertip over the rim of his ear before she brought her lips close. “She’s trying to put enough money together to get away. She’ll be waiting for you in the same place as before.” Fancy leaned back and laughed. “Come on, sugar. Give Fancy a try.”
Eustace shook his head. “Not interested, Fancy.”
Fancy half-rose and, her hand on one side of his head, she whispered in the opposite ear. “Don’t tell her about today, sugar. If she doesn’t manage to leave, she’ll need time to accept the idea of taking customers upstairs.” She put both hands on his shoulders and raised her voice as she gently pushed herself away. “All right, sugar. If that’s the way you want it. You can’t blame a woman for trying.”
Eustace watched Fancy turn her back. What does she mean, if Lorena doesn’t manage to leave? All she has to do is board a stagecoach and leave. He finished his drink and, ignoring Clyde, who still watched him with a calculating gleam in his eye, left the saloon.
Although he doubted Clyde would send anyone to tail him, Eustace took a circuitous route to his destination—his meeting place with Lorena. The anticipation of seeing her again—of speaking with her once more—swelled inside him to the point he feared he might burst out of his skin. It felt similar to the excitement of preparing to go into battle, only it held none of the dread of possible death and failure that he dealt with during the war.
He wanted Lorena, and he wanted her to desire him the same way. He did not wish to wait for two weeks; he yearned to be with her today—right now—and not just to talk. As a vision of him kissing her flitted through his mind, he closed his eyes. Lust. It’s only lust.
Ahead of him, Eustace saw the clump of foliage where he expected to find her. He heaved a breath, telling his mind and body to settle down. Remember, in spite of your other failings, you are a gentleman. He knew he must pass along her letter Danny collected. If she had more mail to send, he would take it with him to forward. Perhaps they might spend a few minutes in pleasant conversation. Then he would walk away, even though that was the last thing in the world he wished to do.
.
.
.
.
Chapter 11
~o0o~
April 30, 1866
L orena finished scrubb
ing out the sink that she used to wash the last of the dishes now she and the other three women had eaten their evening meal. She wiped down the table and swept the floor. This was her last day working for Clyde. As he had warned her, no one in town offered her a paying position. Not even the man who served as the leader of the church was willing to help. His advice was for her to leave Salina.
Lorena also desired to leave Salina. Her concern was that she did not have enough money to travel far or cover her living expenses for more than a few days. For ticket money, all she had at the moment was her March wages Clyde paid her after the other three women stood with her and pressed him. If he refused to pay her April wages, she did not know what she would do.
She recalled that, when she traveled west with Timothy, Junction City was the last city of any size, and it was small compared to Kansas City. Abilene, the one town between her current location and Junction City, was not even as big as Salina. Curse, you, Timothy Mayfield, for putting me in this position—stuck with a reprobate like Clyde in a small town where I have no friends except three prostitutes.
Lorena paused in her cleaning and closed her eyes. She cursed a man now dead. What must God think of her? She sucked in a deep breath. I’m trying, Lord, I truly am. At least. I’ve learned not to be so judgmental about women like Fancy, Sabrina, and Rosa. Please, help me.
All of Lorena’s belongings were packed. Outside, it would stay light late enough she intended to carry her valise and carpetbag to the stagecoach station. Eustace told her he stayed with the stock tenders, but the station had one guest room and a common room with sleeping cots they rented to customers who stayed overnight. She hoped, since she planned to buy a ticket to as far as she could travel and reach a town large enough where she might find work, they would let her rent the guest room until she departed on the eastbound coach. Perhaps they would know someone she could hire to come to the saloon long enough to haul her trunk to the station. She hated to leave it behind, but she would, if it was necessary, in order to get away.
Lorena returned to her room long enough to remove her apron, fold it, and pack it in her valise. She checked her hair in the mirror to be sure it looked neat. She smoothed the bodice of her dress over her corset one last time and left the room. Please, Lord, let me find Clyde in a good mood. Soften his heart so he will pay me the money he owes me.
At the bottom of the stairs, she found Clyde standing at the doorway to the back hallway. With his arms folded, he stood where he could see the entire main room of the saloon, including everyone at the bar. He turned to face Lorena when she approached.
In an effort to hide her nervousness, Lorena held her journal in one hand and forced her other to hang loosely at her side. “Mr. Abernathy, I wish to speak with you for a few minutes, please.” She turned her head to survey the saloon. “I see it is not busy right now. I’m sure Al can handle whoever comes inside.”
Through hooded eyes, Clyde looked down at her. “Fine, Mrs. Mayfield. I have been expecting you. Let’s talk in my office.”
Lorena followed him as he turned toward the back of the building. Will it really be easy this time? She entered and closed the door behind her but stepped only a few feet inside the room. “This is the last day of April, Mr. Abernathy. I’ve come for my final pay. As soon as I receive it, I’m vacating my room so it will be available for you to rent out again.”
Clyde leaned back in his chair. With fingers laced together, his hands rested across his stomach. He shook his head. “You will not be leaving the room, Mrs. Mayfield. You will continue to work for me.”
Lorena shook her head. “No. We both know what I earn here barely covers what Timothy paid for room and board. I have…other expenses. I will be leaving.”
“No, you won’t. I will tell you why.”
Lorena clutched her journal to her chest and mentally braced herself as she watched Clyde’s face break into a conniving grin.
“I had a very interesting visit with a gentleman from back East a couple of weeks ago—a detective. He was very curious about Timothy. It seems Mr. Mayfield’s father became concerned about his wayward son and sought information about him.”
Lorena felt her lungs stop functioning. Next, her heart began beating as if it attempted to break free of the confines of her chest. She forced calmness into her voice. “I see. I have heard no word from my father-in-law or anyone representing him.”
Clyde leaned forward. “I know. I didn’t tell him you’re here. I told him I had a woman by the name of Lola Mayburn who worked for me. I did admit that Timothy came through here last year on his way to Denver.” Clyde smirked as he studied Lorena. “This detective was the one who told me Timothy got himself killed.”
“Then…then it wasn’t Timothy’s partners that told you?”
Clyde shook his head. “Not to me directly, anyway. However, this detective also informed me of some other details I found very interesting. Evidently, the elder Mr. Mayfield—your father-in-law—is a very possessive man.”
Lorena forced her facial expression to remain blank. What Clyde said was true. Although the letters between her and her father-in-law had been congenial, he revealed much of his true nature at the time of Edward’s death.
After she received word of his passing from Edward’s commanding officer, she immediately responded that she wished for Edward’s body to be embalmed and returned home for burial. The problem was that she did not have the funds to cover the full expense. Both she and her father struggled financially at that time. Not only were contributions toward his support from his congregants slow to come in, but over the years of the war, they both had used most of their own extra funds to help those in need.
Out of courtesy, Lorena wrote to her father-in-law about Edward’s death. She also told him of her instructions regarding Edward’s remains but made the mistake of mentioning that it might take some time due to lack of funds.
The elder Mayfield responded with a heart-warming response filled with condolences. He assured Lorena she need not worry about the expense. He would see to the matter. He did. However, Edward’s remains were not returned to her home city to be buried in a plot where she might visit and mourn him properly. Edward’s father instructed that his remains be returned to the Mayfield family plot in St. Louis.
She swallowed. Clyde made the statement for a reason. She needed to find out why. “I never personally met my husband’s father. I know we had a close relationship through letters.”
“Except, you have not written to him since you left Little Rock.”
Lorena shook her head. “Timothy did not wish for me to contact the family. In fact, he insisted I not do so.” She watched Clyde, once again struck with the suspicion he was toying with her while he waited for the right time to spring his trap.
“According to the detective, Timothy’s father wishes to find you. He worries about you. He hinted the old man wants you to come to St. Louis—perhaps stay for an extended visit.”
Lorena felt a chill descended upon her. She did not know if Clyde understood exactly what her father-in-law had in mind, but Lorena could guess.
At first, Timothy told her he left home because he could not stand to be around his wife. Over the course of months, by listening to his ramblings, she pieced together a clearer picture. Timothy’s father insisted his son stay home, perform the job his father chose for him, and be a husband to his wife. He expected Timothy to provide him with a male heir to the Mayfield family wealth. Timothy rebelled at being under his father’s thumb, the same way his wife and child were forced to live. Yet, he wished to redeem himself enough for his father to leave him the family fortune. He hoped to do so by providing a male heir while remaining free from his father’s control.
Lorena did not need to give the matter much thought to realize the meaning behind the threat. If her father-in-law found her and brought her to his home, she would find no means of escape. He would insist on controlling her life the way he controlled his other daughter-in-law.
; Only Edward—her Edward—had escaped. He managed to persuade his father to allow him to move in with his mother’s relatives in order to attend a university in Arkansas. Then, he found a job in Little Rock, and they married. The senior Mayfield had probably still held out hope that his son, Edward, would return home and take over his business until Edward suffered the misfortune of being killed in battle.
Clyde’s condescending chuckle brought Lorena back to the present. “You have a choice, Mrs. Mayfield. You can stay here and work for me, or I will tell the detective when he comes back through that, in his absence, I learned that the woman Timothy introduced to me as Lola Mayburn is really Lorena Mayfield, and that you returned to work for me again. I will also tell him about all the goods you left at your sister’s house.”
Lorena’s lips quivered. Maybe he doesn’t know. “My father-in-law is a wealthy man. I see no reason for him to be interested in my late father’s personal effects I sent to my sister for safekeeping.”
“I know what personal possession of yours at your sister’s house you treasure the most, Mrs. Mayfield. You refuse to do what I expect of you, I will be sure to mention that possession to your father-in-law’s man and tell him exactly where he can find it. I suspect your father-in-law would consider it as much his as yours—maybe more so—and act accordingly.”
Lorena felt her throat tighten to the point she could barely get her words out. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Abernathy? What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so?”
“I don’t hate you, Lorena.” Clyde rose from his chair and walked around his desk. “What I hate is how you feel so superior because you are a clergyman’s daughter.”
Lorena wrinkled her brow and shook her head. “I don’t feel superior…”
Clyde grabbed her upper arm and stuck his face within inches of hers. “You do. You came here as Timothy’s mistress, yet you thought you were better than everyone else here.”