Much Ado About Madams

by Jacquie Rogers

  “Morning, Miss Sharpe. Set yerself down and I’ll feed you.”

  Lucinda seated herself, then, partly to make polite conversation, partly to distract herself from her hunger, but mostly out of curiosity, Lucinda commented, “That’s certainly a nice stove.”

  Sadie puffed up her plump shoulders. “Yup. The boss brung it to me this spring. Said you cain’t make good food on a rundown stove, so he brung this here Empire Heating Range. Comes special with a water heater and all.” She pointed to a cabinet across the kitchen with her spatula. “He brung me that pie safe, too.”

  “Brought,” Lucinda corrected.

  Sadie shot her a quizzical look. “Yup. Well, ‘course the freight wagon actually brung it.”

  Lucinda let the butchered grammar slide even though such misuse of language irritated her to no end. Within a few minutes, Sadie placed a plate heaped with aromatic bacon, eggs, and potatoes before Lucinda. She ate with relish.

  “How’s my girl?” boomed a cheerful baritone voice. The disgusting man who had assaulted her the previous night sauntered into the kitchen, proud as a rooster. He looked a little silly, though, with a day’s growth of beard and straw sticking out of his hair.

  Sadie giggled like a smitten young girl. “Glad to see you back, boss. Looks like you could use a bath.”

  Lucinda resisted the urge to run from the room. Determined to behave in a ladylike manner no matter the circumstances around her, she concentrated on the last morsels of her plate. No awful man would chase her away. Unlike Sadie, she certainly was not glad to see him.

  “You’re right about that, Sadie.” He looked Lucinda’s way and nodded. “Good morning, ma’am.”

  She swallowed her bite of scrambled eggs, and the lump in her throat with them. “Good morning.” She forced herself to finish the remnants of her breakfast, now tasteless, in order not to appear hasty, then asked in her most haughty manner, “May I be excused?”

  Sadie looked puzzled. “I s’pose so.”

  * * * * *

  Reese watched the bizarre but pretty woman leave the room, her nose in the air. “She’s a strange one.”

  Sadie waved her spatula, motioning him to sit down. “Sure is. I don’t know why she wanted to be ‘scused. She didn’t belch or nothing.”

  He laughed at the quizzical look on the cook’s face. Appalled as he’d been when he found out he’d inherited a whorehouse, he had to admit that he’d grown fond of all the ladies, with their strange manners and unique code of ethics. “How long will she be here?”

  “Dunno.” Sadie placed a plateful of bacon and eggs in front of him, then another plateful of fried potatoes and biscuits.

  Sadie treated him like a king—always had. “Thanks.”

  “Eat up. You must have worked up a powerful hunger.”

  “Yeah, I rode hard all day yesterday. Only ate jerky and water.” Reese helped himself to a huge forkful of potatoes, and chased it with a big bite of bacon. “Who is that woman, anyway?”

  Sadie turned toward the stove and stirred the potatoes. “Dunno that either. I’ll put on water so’s you can shave and get your bath.”

  After he’d filled his cavernous stomach, he checked the time on his new gold pocket watch. Ten o’clock. The freight wagon ought to be in town any minute. He hurried to clean up before the day’s work began.

  An hour later, Reese unloaded the whiskey and foodstuffs from the freight wagon, then hauled two trunks into his office at the Comfort Palace.

  In them were seven ready-made dresses—dark green velvet for Fannie, purple calico for Sadie, pink silk for Petunia, yellow silk for Chrissy, bright red satin for Felicia, royal blue silk for Trinket, and light blue calico for Holly—with seven fancy flowered bonnets to match. He had chuckled at the clerk’s puzzled look when he’d asked for the different sizes and colors. The stodgy old woman probably had thought he had a harem. Truth be known, a harem would be too damned much trouble, almost as much trouble as that woman he’d found in his bed. Reese sucked in his breath. She was a looker. Too bad such a pretty lady had to be so uppity.

  The ladies in the Comfort Palace had become his family, and he had vowed to take care of them as best he could despite their profession. Little did these women know that the bouncers, Midas and Titus, had been the fiercest fighting men in his unit during the Indian wars in Montana and Wyoming. The twins had hit him up for a considerable amount of money to come here, but Reese considered them worth every penny.

  He sat in the leather chair behind the desk and started working on the detestable task of reconciling the revenue and receipts. Some of the Palace’s portion of the ladies’ earnings he’d spent on their finery, but the rest he deposited in each of their bank accounts for the day when he could close the place down. Operating funds for the Palace came from his cattle brokering business.

  Reese stared at the figures—his side looked a little lean. But these ladies didn’t have a friend in the world except him. The minute he accepted his inheritance, despite the fact that he didn’t know it was a whorehouse, he’d become responsible for their safety and wellbeing. They had nowhere else to go.

  Fannie walked in, eyeing the trunks with the relish of a child at Christmas. She looked up at him and smiled. “Morning.”

  “Fannie, about the sleeping arrangements...”

  “I’ll have Sadie fix you up a nice bed in the storeroom.”

  “Damn it, Fannie, I don’t want to sleep in the storeroom. Your ‘guest’ can sleep there.”

  Fannie jammed her hands on her hips and glowered at him. “We can’t have a lady of refinement sleeping in a storeroom.”

  “I presume she’ll be gone in four days on the next stage.” Fannie didn’t say a word, and knowing that it would be easier to convince a chicken to give up its feathers than get her to change her mind, Reese let the subject drop for the moment. “Tell Sadie to have the ladies come in here after they eat.”

  Fannie glanced at the trunks and smiled. “They’ll probably want to visit you first.”

  Reese chuckled. “Tell me, how’d things go the last few days?”

  “Decent money, ‘cepting some asshole damn neart done little Holly in. Had her by the throat. I thought he’d kill her ‘fore Titus got there. By the looks of him, I’d say it’ll be a few weeks till that worm can bother anybody else.”

  Reese’s blood boiled, but despite his anger, he kept his voice calm. “Why didn’t Titus get to Holly sooner?”

  “My fault. We ran out of whiskey and I sent Midas to get another barrel. I’d sent Titus upstairs with extry butter for Petunia.”

  “The twins aren’t errand boys. From now on, have an extra barrel behind the bar. I want Midas and Titus on watch every minute a customer’s in this place, one downstairs and one upstairs.”

  “Ain’t room behind the bar.”

  “Tell Gus to build on.”

  “Will do.”

  “While he’s at it, have him build on a guest room.”

  She got up to leave.

  “And tell him I want my own damned door!”

  * * * * *

  Lucinda descended the narrow stairway, curious to discover the reason for the delightful squeals of laughter. There’d never been any of that in the whorehouses her mother had worked in. Raucous giggles over their customers’ inadequacies, yes, but never the festive spirit beckoning her down the stairs.

  She followed the chatter into an office, where she found her midnight intruder gloating like a king, and the ladies twirling around, holding new dresses up to their bosoms.

  Holly ran over to her, offering a light blue dress with lace trim for her perusal. “Look what the boss brought us!” Her voice was jagged, but it didn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

  Lucinda glared at the despicable creature who owned the place. But she couldn’t help admiring the dresses. Only the richest ladies in St. Jo wore these latest styles. She’d savored these same patterns in Godey’s, knowing a schoolteacher would never be able to afford such finery, and feeling
not just a little guilt over her own vanity. She couldn’t help but feel jealous. She touched the lace. “It’s very nice, and you look pretty in this color.”

  Fannie laughed. “The boss can’t see colors, so he buys us all the same ever’ time.”

  Lucinda saw the truth in her statement. The ladies’ current attire all matched their new dresses. Lucinda had to admit that she wouldn’t mind wearing the same color if her outfits were as fine as these. In fact, she felt rather dowdy compared to these women. But better to be dowdy and respectable.

  The man opened a trunk next to the empty one. “This one’s full of bonnets. Have at ‘em.” He looked pleased as could be.

  Lucinda frowned. The only thing more unfair than a bunch of fallen women being dressed better than she, was this abominable man—arrogant, and irresistibly handsome. Lucinda’s heart pitter-pattered. If he were respectable, she’d be quite taken with him. Only to look at, of course. She didn’t need any man to fulfill her life. Suffragists could meet any challenge without a man.

  But was he abominable? She’d never known a brothel owner to clothe his stable before.

  The ladies swooped in on the bonnets like seagulls at a picnic.

  “Pink petunias!” Petunia donned her new hat and modeled it for the other ladies. Lucinda observed that the silk flowers were the work of a fine milliner. He certainly hadn’t bought these hats at a general store. Maybe he was desperate to keep his stable of whores way out here in the sticks, so he bought them quality clothing for a bribe.

  Sadie gathered up her gifts. “Gather yer things together, girls. Breakfast is getting cold.”

  The owner stood as the ladies filed out of the room. “Sadie,” he tossed her his duster, “see if you can get the berry stains out of this, please.”

  Sadie caught it, studied the stain, then wrinkled her brow. “What the hell...”

  “Don’t ask.” He grabbed his hat. “I’m riding out to the ranch. I’m expecting a herd of cattle today or tomorrow.”

  Only Lucinda and Fannie remained in what Lucinda assumed was the brothel office. Fannie cocked her head and mused, “I swear I seen you somewheres before.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “No, I don’t recognize you, and I’m very good with faces.” As least that much was the truth. She remembered faces very well, and she didn’t remember Fannie, but then a prostitute could change a lot in eight years, if they lived that long. Fannie looked forty, although she was probably in her mid-twenties.

  “So am I. I’ll think on it.”

  Please don’t think too much.

  Fannie sat in Reese’s chair. “Let’s do business. School won’t start for a couple of months yet—”

  “The letter stated that school started September first. That’s only three weeks away.”

  “The season’s late this year. Won’t be any kids in school until the middle of October after the work’s done.”

  That did it. She had to find a way out of this nightmare. “I won’t be staying, then, unless suitable quarters are arranged.”

  Fannie acted as if Lucinda hadn’t said a word. “The girls and I want to learn our letters. You’re here, so you might as well learn us.”

  “Teach you,” Lucinda corrected.

  “That’s right.” Fannie didn’t act like she noticed her improper grammar usage, nor did she seem to recognize being corrected.

  Lucinda sighed at her impossible predicament. A suffragist can meet any challenge. She needed money to return to St. Jo, and with a little luck, she could teach for several weeks and return without anyone back home knowing the truth.

  “Well,” Fannie urged.

  “I’d require a rather stiff stipend.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred dollars a month.” That would be enough for fare back to St. Jo and a little extra for the fetid food along the way.

  Fannie sucked in her breath.

  The grandfather clock ticked. Lucinda waited, butterflies flitting in her stomach. She certainly didn’t want to stay here a month, but if Fannie didn’t take her up on her offer, she’d have a lot more difficulty getting the money to go back home.

  After several more ticks of the clock, Fannie said, “That’s a lot more money than a schoolmarm gets.”

  “True, but the pupils are usually seven years old.”

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

  Lucinda grew even more uneasy at Fannie’s silence. The clock chimed eleven times.

  “You got a deal.” Fannie spit in her palm and offered her hand to Lucinda, who reared back in horror. Slowly, Fannie lowered her hand to her side, brushing the spittle on a hankie tucked under the sash at her waist. “Sorry.”

  Lucinda nodded her acceptance. Fannie truly did look contrite. “I’ll go prepare lesson plans. We’ll start class tomorrow morning at eleven.”

  Lucinda climbed the stairs to her room and flopped onto her bed in a most unbecoming manner, but she didn’t care. What would Miss Hattie say if she knew Lucinda had agreed to teach six Cyprians and their cook to read, write, and sum? What a stupid thought, she chided herself. Miss Hattie would be horrified.

  Not only that, if anyone else found out, she’d probably never actually attain a real teaching position. Her former guardian, Rev. Hurndall, would probably be smugly indignant that the “Daughter of Satan” had found herself stranded in a whorehouse hundreds of miles from civilization. He’d think it was her destiny.

  The isolation of Dickshooter comforted her some. Likely, no one would ever discover her true plight. If they did, well, she didn’t want to think about that. Of course, how many women were presented the chance to make a real difference in the lives of the downtrodden?

  She bounced to her feet and smiled. “I can help these women!” She opened the trunk containing school supplies and proceeded to establish a lesson plan—a plan that could free these prostitutes from bondage. A plan that would be used to reform soiled doves all over the country. Yes, the suffragists would understand.

  She had a cause!

  * * * * *

  Reese escaped from the ladies’ tittering to give Buster a good brushing.

  “Over here, Reese,” Gus hollered. “Help me out a minute.”

  “Looks like you’ve made some progress for all that noise you’re making.” Reese headed to the side of the Comfort Palace to what would be his new bedroom. “Whatcha need?”

  “I don’t figure my hammering will bother the whores much, what with you bringing them a whole trunk full of pretties.” Gus pointed to a pile of planks. “It’ll go a lot faster if you hold these while I nail ‘em to the studs.”

  “Buster won’t mind waiting, I suppose.” He hefted one plank to the wall frame. “When do you think you’ll have my room done?”

  “Depends on what you call done.” He loaded his mouth with six-penny nails and pounded one in each top corner of the plank. “You can let go, now.” He hammered nails to the middle and bottom of each side.

  “Walled in and the roof on is what I call done—enough so I can throw my bedroll on the floor and sleep without smelling horse biscuits.”

  “Aw, probably a few days yet, depending on supplies.” Gus bit off a chew of tobacco and sat on a stump. “Need nails unless I can find some more, else I’ll run out in about an hour or so. You got any stashed somewhere?”

  “Nope.” Reese estimated the coverage in the board pile. “At least we have plenty of lumber.”

  “Yep, but not enough to build this room and the bunkhouse out at the ranch, too.”

  “Some ranch. I have land, but only a few cows, no well, and no buildings. I’d hoped to have the damned thing running by now, but it’ll just have to wait until next spring.”

  “The twins are faunching at the bit to get going. Don’t think they like being whorehouse bouncers. I told ‘em it wasn’t much different than herding cows, but they didn’t see the humor in it.”

  Reese chuckled. “I don’t suppose they would. They like being around the ladies just fine, but they get restles
s. I expect they’re ready for a good fight about now.”

  “I expect so.”

  “So what other supplies do you need?”

  “Some hinges and a couple latches, too.” Gus spat. “Don’t know why you can’t sleep in your daddy’s room and tell Fannie to move.”

  “First thing I learned when I found out my dear daddy’s hotel was a whorehouse was that you don’t tell Fannie much of anything.”

  “That’s ‘cause she ain’t scared so much. All the ladies are looking a lot better these days—dressed nicer, and you even see a smile now and again.”

  Reese scuffed the dirt with the heel of his dirt. “You know very well I don’t want this whorehouse or anything to do with it. I just wish there was someplace safe for the ladies to go, but there isn’t. Wanna buy it?”

  Gus snorted. “That’s all I need—buy myself a whole houseful of trouble. Got enough as it is.” He nodded at Reese to help him pick up another board. “Speaking of trouble, what you think of that pretty little thing that came in on the stagecoach?”

  “She’s easy on the eyes even with those prudish clothes, but she won’t be here long. Seems like she got off here by mistake, and I expect she’ll be on the next stage outta here. This is sure as hell no place for a woman like her.”

  “Fanny said she threw you outta bed.”

  “Pitched a hissy, more like it.” He regretted scaring the poor woman half to death, when all he wanted was a little shut-eye. “Finally got Fannie to tell me her name—Miss Lucinda Sharpe. Perfect name for a schoolmarm.”

  “Might make a good wife.”

  “If she came to Idaho Territory looking for a husband, I’m sure she’ll find one in a hurry.” A man would be lucky to get a fiery, pretty woman like that to sleep with every night. Too bad he was born unlucky.

  * * * * *

  Lucinda walked into the office-turned-schoolroom feeling a little mercenary. She had used a social cause to assuage her conscience, but she’d never have consented if she hadn’t been in desperate need of money. The ladies would get her best effort, though. Today, they’d learn to write their names.