The Whip

by Kondazian, Karen

  “I think I heard of that place, ‘Gaming, whiskey and women,’ right?”

  “Correct. Emphasis on the women.”

  He winked and went back to his cards.

  When the rain stopped, Charley started the long ride home. The dawn was bursting through the sky in purples and reds, and the smell of the earth was pungent. Her horse felt comforting beneath her. There was the familiar sound of hooves on damp soil, and her body felt light and strong…pulled back into Edmund’s entrancement.

  For the last hour Tonia had been listening hard while going through the motions of her hateful homework. When at last she heard the sound of Charley’s horse plodding on the packed dirt outside the cabin, she jumped up from the table, knocking her schoolbooks and papers askew and almost knocking over the candle as well.

  Anna, in the corner by the stove, looked up in surprise. Tonia was already halfway to the door.

  “Tonia,” called Anna. “Leave Charley alone.”

  Tonia stopped in her tracks just short of the door. “But mother.”

  “He’s a grown man. He needs his privacy just as you or I do.”

  “I don’t need any privacy. And Charley likes to talk with me. He’s told me so. And we never see him anymore. I miss him.” She took the last step towards the door, though she knew she’d go no farther.

  “Tonia.”

  “All right, mother,” she said in an exaggerated beleaguered tone. She removed her hand from the latch and turned back. “You know I think that Charley gives you more privacy than you want.”

  At the sudden stricken look on her mother’s face, she knew that she’d gone too far. Defused now, she collected her books and papers into a neat pile on the table and got herself ready for bed. She put on her pretty flannel gown, white with little blue flowers, sewn together earlier that summer by her mother. Tonia’s heart was breaking with sadness and contrition. She splashed water over her hands and face. She climbed into the hard bed and lay down on her side. The sheets scratched her cheek and she was glad of it.

  A few minutes later her mother climbed into bed and lay stiffly beside her.

  “I’m so sorry, mother. I love you,” she whispered.

  Anna slipped her arm under Tonia’s neck and held her close.

  As Charley unbridled her horse, she had heard the loud voices coming from Anna and Tonia’s cabin. That cinched it. She wouldn’t be heading in there for some late night grub tonight. In truth, she hadn’t seen very much of them at all this last month. Charley and Anna had not discussed that thing that had happened between them that night. Easier to avoid the whole conversation…as though nothing had happened. Just slip back into their daily rhythms.

  The following day Charley went into work to request a San Francisco run for the weekend.

  When she arrived in San Francisco that Friday, she checked back into the Oriental Hotel. And once again, button by button by button, her clumsy fingers transformed herself from man to woman.

  Twenty-One

  The paint was peeling on the cracked sign hanging high above the door.

  DORA’S

  12 Dupont Street

  GAMING * WHISKEY * WOMEN

  The sign was shaped like a giant golden coin. Charley smiled…it looked just like the coin that had dropped out of Edmund’s pocket that first night she had tucked him in.

  Edmund was at the gaming table, no visible sign that he’d noticed her come in. She went up to the bar to order a whiskey.

  A man with crooked teeth leered at her. “Lemme buy you a drink, girlie.”

  “No thanks, I can—”

  “The man pays in these parts.” He sidled close, sniffing at Charley’s cool neck. He emanated sour sweat, bad breath and beer. “So, what’ll it be?”

  When Charley did not respond but drew back, the man shouted to the barkeep, “Bring the gal a draft.”

  Charley turned back to the gaming table. Edmund was gone. Had he not seen her?

  Her drink arrived, frothy, and in a tall glass. She did not relish playing whore to a man with crooked teeth and a nasty smell. Then she felt a warm hand on the middle of her back, heard a familiar voice. Coins slapped on the bar.

  “That’ll be on me Andy,” said Edmund.

  Charley was relieved to feel his firm hand on her back, steering her away from the bar, away from the crooked teeth.

  Edmund handed her the cold beer and she brought it to her lips. “Why don’t you take a long sip, my dear.”

  She drained her beer in a most unladylike fashion. He allowed his hand to drift along her body in a most ungentlemanly fashion. He tugged at her hand, planted a kiss on the curve of her neck. She moaned her little moan, tugged back at him, and together they moved as one figure out the door, down the street, and up to her room.

  Edmund taught her that weekend, among other things, his favorite card game, Ace-Deuce-Jack. But not before she was given a lecture on the ethics of card playing. Edmund believed all was fair in love and war, with one exception…he said in the game of chance, he never cheated—and despised anyone who did. Cheating at cards was something a gentleman should never do.

  After one of their hands that Charley happened to win, Edmund tilted back the last of his brandy, turned Charley around, pushed her down on the bed and sat on her. She didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Her face was smashed into the mattress. Then, instead of the usual unbuttoning and tearing and lifting, she heard him singing. Full throated above her. An Irish ballad. A love song to Molly O’Flannery…whoever the hell that was. She started to laugh. Her laughter caused the bed to sway in such a way that she felt almost seasick. But she couldn’t stop…her head arched backward. Edmund’s tenor notes grew sweeter and higher. Her sides hurt. She felt breathless. Waves of elation grew inside her. Her body rocked as Edmund’s voice wound itself around her.

  Early Sunday morning, Edmund lazily watched from their bed as Charley once again dressed back into her skivvies, trousers, shirt and boots. Nodding at her crotch, he threw Charley one of his socks.

  “Aren’t you missing something this morning, my dear?”

  Grinning, Charley stuffed the sock down the front of her pants. “There. Big enough for you now?”

  “The bigger the better, my dear. Actually…on second thought, why don’t you drive your coach back today in your low-cut dress? I’m sure the miners would be as delighted as I have been.”

  “Are you speaking of your delight with my dress or the sex?”

  “My delight with fucking you, my darling. Always the delicious fucking.”

  Blushing hard, she grabbed her saddle bags, leaned over the bed and kissed him.

  He whispered in her ear, “See you on the road sometime, Charley girl.”

  Twenty-Two

  At the edge of San Francisco Bay on Montgomery Street, sat the new, red brick, green shuttered Wells Fargo stagecoach office. After checking in, Charley breakfasted next door at the Union Saloon on excellent bread, potatoes, hung beef, eggs, and strong tea. Upon arriving back at the station, she was surprised to see Edmund standing there with that insinuating smile he gave to everyone. Standing there as if he were just passing the time of day.

  “Fancy seeing you again, Mr. Bennett.”

  “Hey there Charley, my good fellow. Spur of the moment…figured I’d join you on the ride back to Sacramento. From there I’ll be heading up to Knights Landing for a good game.”

  “Suit yourself,” Charley said with some sniffing and pretense of indifference. She cut herself a chunk of plug tobacco with her jack-knife, put the fresh chew under her lip, and climbed up onto the driver’s seat.

  Edmund went to climb up to the seat of honor next to Charley but it was already taken. With his usual charm and silver dollars however, he persuaded the gentleman who had been occupying the seat to move inside the coach. Edmund said the rocking made him ill within, and
that the other passengers would bless the gentleman for his good deed, saving them all from his breakfast.

  As soon as Edmund was seated, Charley grabbed the reins and shouted, “Git acoup. Git alang, my beauties.” Her hoarse cry cut through the damp morning air. And they were off.

  Fifty miles, seven hours, and four swing-stations later, the coach pulled up to the home station in Suisun City, the half-way point between San Francisco and Sacramento. Dusty and fatigued, the passengers crawled out of the coach—all trying to outrun each other on their way to the outhouse.

  Charley yelled out, “Coach leaves at 1:30 sharp. You got thirty minutes.”

  After leaving the stagecoach in the hands of the two young stock tenders, Charley went inside with Edmund and sat down at the communal table with some of the other passengers for a quick meal.

  They were about finished when Edmund looked down into his grease-laden plate. “Hog and hominy is not quite what our appetites deserved after our weekend of drunkenness and debauchery, eh Charley?”

  Before she could even react, one of Charley’s regular passengers, Ennis Christman, piped up. “Well, this is a whole lot fucking better than what we get at the mining camps…a cup of coffee strong enough to float a millstone—worse than this shit if you can imagine. Beaver liver and tail stew plus a piece of fat pork, fried, or should I say burned, and to top this god-awful mess off, a pancake apiece fried in the pork fat, and about as heavy as its size in lead. And it ain’t cheap either. The coffee alone is two bucks.”

  “Thank-you my good man,” laughed Edmund. “You have now ruined all of our appetites for at least the rest of the day.”

  He stood up and headed back out to the waiting coach, with Charley and the rest of the amused passengers in tow.

  Following the group, Christman continued his chatterings, “…but still cheaper than fucking raisins. I know one miner who bought a box of raisins and paid weight for weight about four thousand dollars in gold dust for ‘em. It’s true. Shit. Can you believe that? Does cure scurvy though. Hell, maybe I should be picking grapes instead of diggin’ for gold…”

  In time, Edmund and Charley would develop a tacit understanding. They never spoke of her secret. The great game just added to their pleasure. That something unspoken always slipping in and out of their arms.

  Charley could sense Edmund not only made love to Charlotte, but to Charley as well. The vision of Charley on the driver’s box, sweaty, dirty, whipping the six-team, powerful and brave as any man. She imagined it excited him to feel Charley beneath him or on top. As it excited her…the freedom to be a man and a woman in the same body…at the same time.

  Twenty-Three

  One afternoon Charley knocked on Anna’s cabin door.

  “It’s open. Come in,” she called out.

  Charley walked in to find her chopping vegetables.

  “I heard you come home this morning,” Anna said. “We haven’t seen you in a while. Tonia misses you. Can you have dinner with us tonight?”

  “Sure. I just came over though to tell you that I’m leaving again for San Francisco first thing in the morning.”

  Anna’s chopping got faster and harder.

  “You know something Charley…I’ve been thinking…It’s time for Tonia and me to leave. I’m going to talk to her when she gets home from school. We’ll be gone by the time you get back from your trip.”

  “What? Why? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You don’t want us in your life anymore. Since that night you ran away from me, you are always gone. All those long runs to San Francisco. You don’t even have your days off anymore. I don’t know if you have someone there. It’s okay if you do. You don’t have to tell me. But Tonia misses you. We never see you. It’s lonely here.”

  “What do you mean? I thought you were happy. Of course I want you and Tonia in my life…Christ, where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll go to San Francisco too. I can find work. I’ve always taken care of Tonia. I’m grateful for our time here and all you’ve done but I…I just think it’s time.”

  “This is fucking crazy. You have a good life. Why would you give that up? What will you do? I won’t let you go back to Luigi…to that kind of life you used to live.”

  “At least then I was never bored. And that is not your decision, Charley. You’re not my husband.”

  “You’re being selfish, Anna. Tonia is happy here. She likes her school. She has a home. Don’t go.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’re leaving.” Anna went back to her chopping.

  Charley didn’t know what to do. She poured herself a whiskey. She downed it. She poured another and sat down.

  What could she do? Tell her about her “friend” and she’d still leave. Maybe this was the moment that she had to tell Anna the truth…everything. All of it. She took a breath. Please God, don’t let Anna and Tonia leave. She willed herself to speak. But nothing came out.

  Anna was just busying about making dinner, acting as though Charley wasn’t even in the room. It seemed like an hour had passed. Why couldn’t she just say the fucking words to Anna? Because she was a coward. That’s why.

  “Quit staring into space, Charley. Go to the garden and get me some parsley. Make yourself useful.”

  Charley stood up and started towards the door. But then she stopped. She turned around.

  “Anna.” Tears had started. “I’m…so sorry. I don’t want you to go. I know I haven’t been around for you and Tonia. I just…” She shook her head trying to stop the tears. “That night I left you…I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. So I just avoided you. I kept avoiding you. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…I didn’t think that you might be lonely. If you want to leave, that’s one thing, but please don’t leave because of me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Would never hurt you. Please don’t go. I promise I’ll be here more.”

  Anna put the knife down. She stared at Charley for a long moment. She had never seen him cry. What did this mean? She walked over to him. She put her hand on his arm.

  “Thank-you. I needed to hear that. Let me think…maybe. We’ll see. Let me finish dinner. How about we talk more when you get back from San Francisco? Yes?”

  Charley looked into Anna’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. She couldn’t stop the damn tears.

  Twenty-Four

  Jim Birch looked through the shutters of the Sacramento Wells Fargo office, toward the waiting stagecoach outside.

  “This is an important job, Charley. Gold run. No passengers. San Francisco office is expecting you as soon as you can get there.”

  They both watched as two bank guards loaded the shipment into the secured strongbox on the coach.

  “There’ll be a couple hired guns riding with you,” Jim continued. “One’ll ride shotgun and one’ll be in the coach. Both are professionals. As usual, just let them do their job. You got your gun as well, right?”

  “As always Jim.”

  Across the street, two men exited a neighboring saloon shouldering their shotguns, and ambled toward the stagecoach.

  “There’s your coach guns now,” said Birch.

  The two men had the same look: they both seemed to have lost the need to connect with the human race. But one of them, the one on the right with a beard—Charley stopped breathing—that walk, that lanky, insolent stride.

  An alarm rang through every part of Charley’s body. Had she been an animal she might have put her head down at that moment and bolted, only the warm ripple of the air left as a sign of the creature who’d been there. Or she’d have charged forward at the man, screaming and baring her teeth; she’d have torn with her nails great handfuls of skin from him; and she’d have killed him with her bare hands.

  Her palms were sweating, her heart was pounding, pushing a storm-surge of blood through her, expandin
g her body almost visibly; her muscles were charged. She was running to the end of each of the possible paths ahead of her. Death after death was happening in her mind.

  Jim Birch looked at her. “Something the matter, Charley?”

  She took a deep breath, trying to shake her head clear of it. “Nope. I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t quite convinced. “Hell, you sure you’re okay?”

  “Never better,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “Well, okay, if you say so,” said Birch. “Good luck then. Have a safe trip. I’ll see you in two days.”

  Charley walked through the door to the red coach glimmering in the morning sunlight. She pulled her hat down low on her brow, hunched her shoulders up…her body a tight fist.

  The hired guns were standing by the coach waiting. They nodded to Charley and Jim. Charley turned away, but then her body twisted without her will, to look…just her eyes showing, shoulder and hat hiding the rest of her face. The man she’d thought was Lee glanced over at her. His eyes squinted as though he were looking into the sun. It was Lee Colton. It was Lee. He was barely recognizable under his hat and full beard, but she knew those fucked up eyes. She was petrified. Part of her wanted to run. She needed to gather herself.

  If he recognized her, he gave no sign of it.

  Charley willed herself to climb up onto the driver’s box. Swift and silent, the two gunslingers took their place; Lee inside the coach, and the other man on the spare end of the driver’s seat. He nodded to Charley and settled down next to her with his gun resting comfortably in his lap, staring straight ahead. He reeked of strong liquor. Charley scanned the horses, the position of the reins. She could feel movement below her as Lee settled into his seat. She thought of something.

  “Jim,” called Charley.

  Birch stuck his head out the office door.