Speak Through the Wind

by Allison Pittman

  “You could always go back to California,” Kassandra would tell her whenever she was in the midst of one of her pouts.

  “Life ain’t about goin’ backwards,” she would reply. “That’s why God made our toes stick out front.”

  This was just the kind of philosophy that delighted Mae to no end, and she would spend the rest of the day muttering Jewell’s latest gem under her breath.

  “Pretty soon they’re gonna be thinkin’ they’re in Monte Carlo,” Jewell said.

  “Oh, what do you know of Monte Carlo?” Kassandra asked.

  “I know plenty.”

  Even Biddy was wooed by the friendly atmosphere and had ventured down from the room she’d been given to talk and serve drinks to the miners. In truth, they seemed far more terrified of her than she did of them, and on odd occasions Kassandra even heard her laughing at some joke or another. She thought of herself when she was just seventeen serving up drinks to the men in Mott Street Tavern. Oh, Biddy, she thought, faith can slip away so quickly. We have to get you out of here.

  But there wouldn’t be any leaving now for any of them, not anytime soon. Leaving took money or a willingness to walk alone down the mountain, and right now Kassandra had neither. She’d given everything she had to Jewell to move them here and build this house, and she hadn’t earned a dime since then. Part of her was at peace with that, knowing that her body was her own, living with an invisible, impenetrable hedge, completely undesirable to the few men who did come to Jewell’s house seeking a woman’s affection. Since leaving San Francisco, she hadn’t once painted or powdered her face, and the blotches and wrinkles were exacerbated from months of exposure to the Wyoming winter’s air.

  No, where Jewell found aggravation, Kassandra found tranquillity. As Jewell bemoaned their poverty, Kassandra enjoyed a manner of prosperity. Never before—not since before leaving Reverend Joseph’s house—had she felt such control over herself and her life. There had been a few moments there, during her conversation with Biddy, when she had felt a little sorry for herself. A little bit abandoned by God. A little lost. But if Biddy could take comfort in the fact that God dropped her here, she could take pride in having gotten here on her own. Here, nobody would hurt her. Here, she had nothing to give, so there was nothing to take. In Jewell she had someone who watched out for her, and in Biddy she had someone to watch over. She was, at last, a mother and a daughter.

  It seemed they were doomed to repeat a winter identical to the previous one, just Jewell and Kassandra and Mae—with the welcome addition of Biddy—rattling around Jewell’s house, getting poorer and poorer as they passed late nights drinking coffee and swapping stories.

  Then one afternoon, just before dark, Kassandra heard an elated whoop! come from Jewell’s room.

  “What is it?” Kassandra clambered through the doorway to find the woman wearing her silk dressing gown and leaning out her window.

  “Come look at this,” Jewell said, beckoning Kassandra over her shoulder.

  Kassandra stood and looked over Jewell’s shoulder. Her window faced the little path that led into the Silver Peak camp and directly into Jewell’s yard. In the distance, she saw a woman emerging up the path. She carried a small green case, wore no coat, and looked like she might collapse at any step.

  “I wonder what she wants,” Kassandra said.

  “Her name’s Gloria.”

  “You know her?”

  “I knew her ma,” Jewell said, not turning around. “Millie Marsh. Best whore that ever worked for me.”

  “The one that got sick? How can you be sure that is her daughter?”

  “Looks just like her ma. Beautiful woman—one of the most beautiful you’re ever gonna see. If that girl woulda stuck with me, we’d both be knee-deep in rich by now.”

  “Why didn’t she?”

  “Hmph. Some sense of loyalty to that mother of hers. Look,” she turned around and gave Kassandra a light push away from the window, “you stay away from her.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want you turnin’ her off with all your gloom and doom. One look at that long face and she’ll haul herself right out of here.”

  Kassandra let forth an incredulous laugh. “Am I to be banished to my room?”

  “I’ll bring her up here, let her get some rest. Just wait in the kitchen for now,” Jewell said, giving her another little push. “She might want some thin’ to eat.”

  It was Biddy who came into the kitchen a little while later, her eyes wide. “Oh, Sadie, she’s lovely.”

  “Is she, now?” Kassandra replied, both amused and concerned at Biddy’s sense of wonder.

  “I’m to fetch her tea and toast.”

  “Fetch? Are we her servants?”

  “Nothing like that. I think she’s really quite hungry.”

  Hours later, Kassandra and Mae ate their own late supper. One of the men had managed to shoot a late migrating goose, and the two women were heartily enjoying it when Biddy came back in the kitchen, this time lugging Gloria’s green case, her eyes downcast.

  “What’s the matter?” Mae asked, licking her fingers as she jumped to her feet to put a comforting arm around the girl.

  “Jewell told me I was to go through her bag and look for money,” she said quietly. “She wants me to be a thief.”

  “Well, don’t do it,” Mae said, drawing Biddy close.

  “Tell her you looked and found nothing,” Kassandra said.

  “Then that would make me a liar,” Biddy said.

  “Then tell her you gave it to me.” Kassandra reached over to take the bag out of Biddy’s hand. “I have no problem lying to her.”

  Still later that night, after all the company had gone away, Kassandra picked up empty glasses and bottles and took them to the kitchen. The room was a mess from supper, but she was too tired to face it now. Her bed beckoned, and taking a single candle for light, she went back through the dark, abandoned parlor and headed up the stairs. There she saw Jewell, coming out of her own room, looking as downcast as Biddy had when sent to do a thief’s errand.

  “How is she?” Kassandra asked, opening her bedroom door and stepping inside, giving a silent invitation for Jewell to follow.

  “Pregnant.”

  “Really?”

  Kassandra attempted an air of nonchalance, though for some reason this news quickened her heart. She sat on the edge of her bed, set the candle on the table next to it, and bent to untie her boots.

  “Why would she come here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Jewell said, depositing herself on the other end of the bed. “But I’ll lay ten to one she wants me to get rid of it.”

  “She told you that?”

  “She didn’t even tell me she was pregnant.”

  “Then how do you know she is?”

  “I stripped her down. Woman that good-lookin’ is bound to have some cash on her.”

  “You should be ashamed.”

  “No, what I should be is rich. Anyway, when I got her down to nothin’, I seen she wasn’t but skin and bones, with that perfect little tummy bump.”

  “You won’t do it, will you? You would not … hurt that baby.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Jewell said, taking a huge, stretching yawn. “She ain’t much value to me in that condition.”

  Kassandra caught Jewell’s arm midstretch. “Don’t do it,” she said, more strongly than she had intended. “You have seen what can happen.”

  “You talkin’ about you?” Jewell tugged her arm out of Kassandra’s grasp. “Missy, I seen lots worse than you went through. Even had to do it once for Gloria’s ma—at her request, of course. You know, it ain’t every woman as keen as you to lug some brat around all her life.”

  “Do not talk to me of children,” Kassandra said, fully angry now, but speaking in a sharp whisper so as not to disturb the others. “You have no right.”

  “This ain’t about you.”

  “How far along do you think she is?”

&
nbsp; “I’d guess four months.”

  “Think of how dangerous that is.”

  “Look, Sadie, she ain’t even asked me for nothin’ yet.”

  “But if she does, what will you say?”

  Jewell let out a sigh, as if feigning disappointment. “I ain’t decided.”

  “Jewell, she is young and beautiful.” Kassandra’s voice rose, and she found herself speaking through the threat of tears. “Don’t take away all of her chances to have a beautiful child.”

  “She can always have more kids if she wants. Later.”

  “Like I can?” Kassandra asked, holding Jewell’s gaze and using all her strength not to erupt into wailing. “Tell me, Jewell. Am I ever going to be able to have more children?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t God and I sure ain’t no doctor.”

  “Then remember that tomorrow morning when you talk to this—Gloria.”

  “It ain’t my call.”

  Kassandra reached down to take off her second boot. “Of course it is your call. When have you ever answered to anybody?”

  t didn’t take long for Gloria to fit in with the rest of the house. Obviously no stranger to the brothel life, she seemed to appreciate the camaraderie of the other women, and Biddy seemed fascinated with her every move.

  Despite several offers from Kassandra, Mae, and Biddy to share their room with her, Gloria insisted in staying in the little one-room cabin built behind the main house—the evidence of Jewell’s long-abandoned dream of expansion.

  “I like having a house to myself,” she’d said upon each invitation. “I never have before.” None of the women could argue with that.

  To the delight of everybody—even Jewell, Kassandra suspected, though the woman would never admit to it—Gloria’s pregnancy blossomed before their very eyes. When Gloria’s clothes no longer fit, Mae generously shared hers, and Gloria good-naturedly wore the voluminous material draped over her belly, exposing her legs halfway up her shins.

  “Jewell’s changed,” she told Kassandra one day when the two women had a moment to chat alone.

  “How so?”

  “She used to be the biggest madam in town,” Gloria said. “San Francisco, during the rush.”

  “Do not remind her,” Kassandra said. “She would never admit it, but I think she is just a little bit happy.”

  The only place Gloria didn’t seem to feel comfortable was in the parlor where the men were, and truth be told, they seemed to shy away from her, too. No one would dispute that she was the most beautiful woman in the house, with a perfect cascade of blond curls and eyes the color of the lakes that formed from the melting snow on the surrounding mountaintops. But their eyes were inevitably drawn to her protruding belly, and the sight of it made them squirm. So she spent a lot of time in Jewell’s kitchen, tidying up, washing dishes, but leaving all the cooking to Mae.

  In fact, Mae’s cooking had added quite a few pounds not only to Gloria, but to Biddy as well. Kassandra took a maternal satisfaction in seeing the two grow healthier, sturdier with each meal, and she silently marveled that Jewell’s own girth had not been affected.

  “I got nowhere else to go,” Jewell had said one time when Kassandra commented on the subject. “And I figure tall as you are, you’re just startin’ to fill up at your toes and work your way up.”

  They estimated that the baby would be born late in March, and Kassandra assured Gloria that she could be counted on to act as midwife when the time came. But nothing seemed to put the younger woman’s mind at ease. During several late-night chats, sometimes in Jewell’s kitchen and other times sitting together on Gloria’s bed, Kassandra told her everything to expect. How awful the pain would be, but how soon it would be forgotten. How cumbersome her body would become, but how much she would miss carrying that child.

  She had been reluctant to give all the details of her own children, afraid to squash any joy that Gloria would feel about the impending birth of her child. She told her that her first child had died, but not the grisly circumstances. She told her about her daughter, born healthy and strong and living with a loving family, in the hope that should Gloria not love this baby, she would seek such a home for it. And she told her about the horrible loss of miscarriage in the hope that Gloria would in some way see her full pregnancy as a blessing.

  “How old are you?” Gloria asked, as if to calculate how one woman could have so much loss in one life.

  “Twenty-five,” Kassandra said after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Oh. You … you seem … older.”

  Kassandra smiled reassuringly. “I got started very young.”

  “Didn’t we all?” Gloria said with a sigh.

  Kassandra often caught glimpses of Gloria running her hands over her stomach, a slight smile on her face. She wished—not for the first time—that she had access to all the herbs and ingredients Imogene had taught her how to use all those years ago. Instead, she dispensed what advice she could, telling Gloria to sit with her feet elevated whenever possible, to try to walk a little every day, and to keep track of when and how often and how vigorously the baby moved. She took great satisfaction for herself with every bit of counsel, and felt a tiny bit of the sadness at the loss of her own children melt away with the hope of bringing this one safely into the world.

  That January saw a warm spell, with several days in a row inching well above zero. Much of the snow melted, everybody’s spirits lifted, and an unexpected supply train made a surprise visit up the narrow mountain pass. Word spread quickly, and soon Jewell’s yard was teeming with men ready for anything fresh, food or drink. The women of Jewell’s house made a party of it with sandwiches and cookies and a tap in the last keg of beer.

  Kassandra saw Gloria watching the festivities from behind the curtained window of her little cabin, but soon urged her to come out and join the celebration. She had taken the iron to her own hair for the first time in months and created curls that spilled over her shoulders. And when Gloria asked for help with her own, Kassandra was more than happy to comply.

  That was the day she learned that Gloria was not the only expectant mother in Silver Peak. The man she and Jewell had known as the killer from South Pass made a rare appearance with his wife. Mrs. MacGregan sought no friendship with the women of Jewell’s house, and they sought none with her. In fact, Mrs. MacGregan rarely came down to the central part of the camp, and when she did, she clung to her husband’s arm, looking as if she wished the ground would open up and suck her down.

  It was Gloria who pointed out that the woman was pregnant. “You should talk to her,” she said. “Offer to help.”

  “But of course,” Kassandra said. “Then maybe we will drink some tea and tell each other secrets.”

  “Listen,” Gloria said. “She’s going to need a midwife.”

  It was the idea of being needed that drew Kassandra toward this sickly, sour-faced woman, so she took Gloria’s arm, and together they crossed the yard to introduce themselves.

  After several awkward exchanges, during which Mrs. MacGregan seemed determined to deny her condition, Kassandra finally blurted out, “I am a skilled midwife.” She had never identified herself as such, and the sound of the words coming from her mouth made her feel the pride of it. True, it had been nearly ten years since she had helped deliver a baby, but the notes copied in the back pages of Clara’s Bible were at that moment as clear to her as if she had them folded in her pocket.

  “When your time comes, just send your husband down, and I’ll be right up to help you.”

  “That’s good to know,” Mr. MacGregan said.

  He held out his hand to shake hers. Kassandra stood for just a second, not knowing what to do. No man had ever offered her his hand before; her hand had always been taken, to be led up a flight of stairs to some upstairs room or held tight lest she try to squirm out of an embrace. Men had used their hands to stroke her shoulders, pinch her body, hold her down. But a handshake? This was a gesture of equality. This was an acknowledgment tha
t she was a person worthy of respect.

  Nervous, actually afraid that she might do something wrong, she reached her hand out. His grasp was firm and strong, and the touch of it gave Kassandra a sense of satisfaction she’d never imagined for herself.

  Then it was gone.

  “He will not be darkening the door of your house,” Mrs. MacGregan was saying, having slapped her husband’s hand away from Kassandra’s grip.

  Mr. MacGregan apologized profusely for his wife’s behavior, but his wife showed no sign of contrition. Kassandra heard very little of the exchange, her head ringing with the shame of Mrs. MacGregan’s judgment. How silly she’d been to think that she could ever rise above this pit she had dug for herself.

  “Well then, good day to you,” she said, her words sounding hollow, as if spoken from a well.

  She turned and walked back to Jewell’s house. Back to her place.

  t was a snowy night late in March when Gloria’s baby arrived. The women had been enjoying a quiet evening in the kitchen when Kassandra noticed Gloria wince just a little, not calling for any attention, then leave her companions early to retire to her little cabin out back.

  “I think the baby is coming,” Kassandra told the others, watching through the kitchen window to see that Gloria made it safely across the yard.

  “Really? Tonight?” Mae clapped her hands and broke into an impromptu jig.

  “Shouldn’t you go help her?” Biddy asked, straining to see out the window for herself.

  “Not right now,” Kassandra said, remembering her solitary midnight walk on the beach nearly five years ago. “Let her enjoy her last few moments alone with the child inside of her. The hard work will begin soon enough.”

  There were a few men visiting tonight, but Jewell kept them occupied with round after round of cribbage in the parlor. Mae mixed and baked a spice cake in the kitchen, and Kassandra stood watch at the window, looking for any kind of sign.