by Ann Parker
Inez rolled her eyes, unseen by the reverend. “Justice Sands. It never ceases to amaze me how you try to draw the blackest sheep into your flock. I know that Flo and the rest used to attend regularly, but that was last winter. Oh, how the town has changed, in just those eight, nine months, and the congregation with it. Consider how the women of the church view me, then multiply that a hundredfold. That is how they’d react if a pack of State Street prostitutes were to come traipsing into the church. Not to mention the consternation it would cause the good husbands who happen to have, shall we say, a certain intimate familiarity with Flo’s women.”
His face emerged from the towel, expression stubborn. “They are God’s children. They have souls, as we all do. For all their trials and tribulations, their use and misuse and abandonment by others, they deserve more of God’s—and our—love, attention, and charity, rather than less. They have a greater fight to fight against temptation than any others of the church. We should be providing assistance, not disdain.”
Inez threw up a hand to halt the flow of words. “Justice. Reverend J. B. Sands. Please. You do not need to give me a sermon. It’s the old biddies of the church you should be preaching to. And I know, if you were to say all this to them, they would gaze into your eyes, get lost in the music of your voice, and when you’re done, they’d go off and whisper among themselves, ‘Oh, that Reverend Sands, he is so ignorant of the ways of women! It’s all right, he hasn’t the slightest notion of what he speaks, but his heart is in the right place.’ They always find ways to explain away your enthusiastic verbal transgressions, forgive your very generous acts of charity to the misbegotten, blame the saloonkeeper not the minister when you offer your arm.”
The last slipped out unplanned. She shook her head, wishing she could take it back.
He stared at her, his countenance hardening. “I follow the path that my life set forth for me. I know the dark side, the low side, the despairing side of humanity. What it’s like to walk through the valley of death and despair, believing there is no other way, no other end but a meaningless and final death, with nothing but oblivion beyond. It is the fire that tempered the steel of my life’s resolve. This is the work I am here to do—reach out to others who are struggling on that same path.”
He flipped the towel onto the towel rod. “I’m sorry, Inez. I don’t mean to head down this road right now. I’m only asking this small thing from you, if you please. Go see Flo this morning. Go as a representative of the church. You can give her a Bible from the stack by my desk in the rectory or buy one at Warner’s bookstore and tell them to put it on the church’s account. It’s a token and shows her I…we…care. Be kind to Flo. I understand that Officer Ryan has brought a long list of charges against her. She’ll not be released before the end of next week, at the earliest. And she is the one that holds that house together. Who knows who will prey upon the women there while she’s gone.”
“Enough, enough. I’ll do it. I have no grudge against Flo.” Indeed, her fortunes are intertwined with mine. If her house falls, I’ll fall with her.
The passing thought tasted bitter. Tasted of regret tinged with panic. “I’ll take her a Bible. Maybe I can even bring her some decent food. I’ll beg a basket from Bridgette. But I won’t tell her whom it’s for. I’ll simply say I’m off to visit a member of the church, who’s in need of comfort. That will do. She’ll fuss and tsk-tsk, and Flo will be the better for it.”
“Thank you.” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to lecture or deliver a sermon. You are my soul, Inez. The light of my life. ‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death.’ Only I’d argue one point at the end: I believe love is stronger.”
Washed and dressed, he kissed her one last time. “You’ll be in my thoughts today. All day, every minute. I’ll be by the Silver Queen at ten-thirty to escort you to the banquet tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Inez stopped before the doors leading to the county jail. She gazed at the brick building, which, although only one story, bore more than a passing architectural resemblance to Flo’s brick brothel, and tucked a scented handkerchief up her sleeve for quick retrieval. A small pocket Bible, obtained from Warner’s Books, was under one arm. The other carried a covered basket laden with the fluffiest of Bridgette’s biscuits, a hunk of butter straight from the cooler and wrapped in waxed paper, and a brimming tin of stew. Inez couldn’t figure out how to tell Bridgette that, without a knife, the butter would be useless, most likely melting into a puddle of grease in the overheated and crowded jail.
Inez pushed open the doors and entered, wending her way to the wood addition that held the guardroom and kitchen of the institution. The county jailer, Jake Miller, looked up from his morning paper and coffee, then rose to his feet when Inez brushed through the entryway. “Why, Mrs. Stannert, good morning!”
“Good morning, Mr. Miller. I’m here as a representative of the church to bring a few things to one of your inmates.” She placed the book and the basket on the table.
“Smells like Mrs. O’Malley’s doings here.” He lifted the napkin and inspected the contents of the basket, then replaced the napkin and flipped perfunctorily through the small Bible. “And who’s the lucky recipient?”
“Mrs. Sweet.”
“Flo?” He raised his bushy eyebrows, then lowered them in a thoughtful frown. “That’s right. I remember hearing she’s kinda a supporter of Reverend Sands’ church and all.”
“The good reverend is busy today with the Grant party and asked me to come in his stead. He asked me to visit Mrs. Sweet and find out if there’s any aid of a spiritual or material nature we might be able to provide.”
“Well, let’s go. Parsons’ in there with Officer Ryan and some visitors for Flo, so he’ll have the keys. We can just pound on the door that leads to the block. Now, ’bout the only thing that Flo needs right now is a ore-car full of silver, what with the fines, charges, and fees The Hatchet’s got levied against her. Too bad she doesn’t keep her money tucked in a mattress or safe or some such where it’s easy to get at. Anyhow, The Hatchet’s got such a bee in his bonnet over this, I think he’d make a stink if we let her go anytime afore autumn.”
Inez sighed, and picked up her skirts to follow him into the jail proper. As they approached the door to the inner sanctum, it squeaked open and disgorged four people. Miller greeted Assistant Jailer Parsons with “How’re the county’s guests today?”
Parsons shrugged, holding the door open for the rest of his group to exit. “All enjoyin’ their breakfasts. Well, the sane and sober ones are, anyways.”
Inez and Miller moved to the side to let the others pass by. Inez identified one of Flo’s women, Molly, her formerly wild red hair pinned up and under an elegant hat. The hat, a pale shade of gold, was of a match to her haute couture lilac and gold walking suit. Business must be good if one of Flo’s can buy such an outfit and drag it though the Leadville dust and mud.
Molly stared straight ahead through reddened eyes, acknowledging neither Inez nor the jailer. Trailing behind her was Flo’s doorman and bouncer, Danny. He looked at Inez sorrowfully, as if part of a funeral train. Bringing up the rear was The Hatchet. He stopped to have a muttered word with Parsons, then gave Inez the once-over, face of stone, before following the others to the exit.
Parsons handed the keys to Miller, who turned to Inez and said, “Be warned, Mrs. Stannert, the smell here ain’t pretty. We got a full house plus some right now.”
Inez whipped out her handkerchief and pressed it to her nose against the reek.
Miller continued, “Gets so’s you can’t smell it at all after a while.”
Anxious to get her promised task completed, Inez stepped into the jailroom. She paused on the corridor that encircled a large iron cage containing eight cells. As she stepped forward with the jailer, their footsteps clanged on the boiler iron floor. The ringing bounced off the brick walls and added the mutterings
and louder vocalizations of the jail population. Flo had a cell to herself, close to the locked door leading into the cage.
Inez stepped up to the bars facing the outside corridor, staring. A worn but serviceable rag rug lined the iron floor, while a satin coverlet and a similarly covered tasseled pillow graced the iron bedstead. A gilt-edged mirror balanced on a washstand that held a porcelain pitcher and washbasin. Embroidered linen runners covered a wood table in the center of the cell.
Flo sat by the table in a high-backed rocking chair, a crumpled paper clenched in her hand. She wore a dark-striped princess polonaise, looking much like a proper woman set to receive visitors in her private parlor. Except for her eyes. Her gaze was locked in a prison of grief, anger, and something else. Fear, Inez decided.
The county jailer surveyed her cell. “Hey, Miz Flo, this is right nice. You’ve got all the comforts of home here. Nice of Danny and Miss Molly to bring the stuff in for you. And we sure appreciate the donation to the police retirement fund that you-all agreed to make when you are released. Now, here’s Mrs. Stannert. She’s come from Reverend Sands’ church and brought some sustenance for you.”
“Sustenance for the body and the soul,” said Inez, moving forward with the book and the basket.
“Nah-ah, Mrs. Stannert. I got to be the one to hand these to her.” Miller took them from her, unlocked the door to the cage’s inner corridor, entered, unlocked Flo’s door, and put the book and basket on the table.
Flo didn’t even look at the offerings. “Jake, can I please have a moment alone with Mrs. Stannert?”
“Well now, you know an officer of the law has to be present and nearby,” said Miller.
Flo looked at him imploringly, tears spilling out of wide blue eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Suppose I could go check the group at the other end of the cage. See if they are done with their breakfast.”
“Thank you, Jake.” Flo sniffed loudly, applying a lace hanky to eyes and cheeks.
Miller stepped out of her cell, locked it, and then deliberately turned his back on the two women. He strolled down the inner corridor, seemingly oblivious to the shouts and ravings of the inmates in cells to either side. “Hey jailer! When’s the judge comin’ to town so’s I can get outta here?” “Jake! Goddammit, I’m sober now. Tell my wife to come on down and bail me out!”
Flo rose from the rocking chair and came up to the bars, gripping them with both hands. “Mrs. Stannert. I need your help.” Her low voice was desperate.
“Reverend Sands asked that I bring you a Bible, and if there’s anything the church can do—”
“To hell with the church!” She said this with such vehemence that Inez blinked.
Flo crumpled against the bars. Inez couldn’t believe that the woman before her was the same cheerful, slightly scatterbrained prostitute she’d met less than a year ago. Or the practical, business-like madam she’d recently struck a business deal with.
She whispered, as if it hurt to say the words, “Lizzie was killed last night.”
“You mean the girl that was found dead yesterday morning behind your house?”
Flo looked up, some of her spirit returning. “She wasn’t dead. I knew it! But no one would listen to me, not even Doc.” She bit her lip. Then, the words poured out fast and furious. “Molly and Danny were just here. Molly told me. They’d put Lizzie inside, just as I’d asked before The Hatchet hauled me away. The girls were taking turns keeping watch on her. And then, that bitch Zelda slit her throat and sent her to the other side for good.”
“What?”
“It’s true! Ask Molly. Or Doc! He was there! When they realized Lizzie still had breath in her, Molly sent Danny to fetch Doc and left Zelda alone with Lizzie. Stupid bitch!” she spit out.
Inez stepped back, shocked from the violence of Flo’s emotion.
“Molly should have stayed with Lizzie,” Flo continued. “She should have never, ever left Zelda alone with her. They didn’t get along. I don’t know why. Lizzie hated Zelda. Zelda didn’t like Lizzie, but she didn’t seem the kind to, to…Why would she do that after all I did for her?”
Inez was having trouble following Flo’s anguished outpourings.
“Flo, wait. Doc was there?”
Flo nodded. “When Molly unlocked the door, there was Lizzie, throat cut, Zelda with the knife. No one could go in or out. It had to be Zelda.” Her voice caught in a sob.
“Flo, I’m sorry. What a tragedy. I don’t know what to say.”
“Find her,” hissed Flo. “Find Zelda and make her pay. Before she gets away. She has a father here in town, an invalid. At least that’s what she told me when I agreed to take her on. With me more the fool. She just seemed like any girl, desperate, with no way to make money enough to live on. The law doesn’t care about Lizzie. She’s only a whore, throat slit by another whore. How…sordid. It’s not what the city fathers want Grant and the governor to think of Leadville.”
“Flo.” Inez tried to break through the firestorm of words, striving for a tone of sympathy and reason. “It’s very sad, I agree. Lizzie looked so young. But what good can come of trying to chase this down? Wouldn’t it be better to let Lizzie’s ugly end go unnoticed and simply give her a decent burial? I’m sure that Reverend Sands would deliver a eulogy, if you want him to. But think, think, if you give in to the desire to pursue this unreasoned fantasy of vengeance, think of what the unwanted publicity will do to your—”
Our.
“—Business. Was Lizzie with you a long time? Even so, surely you can see this makes no sense.”
“No! You have to see.” Flo’s hand shot through a gap between bars and gripped Inez’s shoulder, drawing her close. Flo whispered savagely, “Lizzie wasn’t just some urchin I pulled off the street. Lizzie was my sister. My little sister!”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Inez stomped into the saloon in a foul mood. Flo’s last words before the jailer wandered back up the block, jangling the keys significantly, had echoed her own fears. “Remember, Mrs. Stannert. You and I, we’re riding the same horse. I need to get out of here before the whole cathouse goes to hell. Molly can only handle so much. She’s prone to nerves. So many of the girls are. And with all the temptations close to hand. Booze, laudanum, ether, opium. I insist the girls not touch the stuff, but without me around…The Hatchet struck a deal with the judge or someone high up. He said, even if I get the money, I won’t get out on bail for weeks. That’s too late! Find Zelda today. Tomorrow. Tell me or Danny. I trust Danny; he’s been with me forever. Tell one of us, and we’ll take it from there.”
I wish I’d never agreed to run Justice’s “errand of mercy.” I wish I’d never signed that agreement. Still, if I can only get through this. Surely SOMEONE at the bordello knows more about Zelda, who her family is, where she might have gone to ground.
In the kitchen, Abe was reading the paper while Bridgette fried up sausages.
“Mrs. Stannert, you seen all the hullabaloo in today’s paper?” Abe tapped the front page of The Independent with his fork.
Her first thought was that it had to do with Lizzie’s death, but she quickly realized that such an event, not all that unusual to begin with, would hardly rate front-page news. “Do you mean the fire two nights ago?”
“Nope. Although that’s mentioned along with Grant’s arrivin’ in town. This is somethin’ else, though. Looks like that young fellow, Wesley, has got hisself in a big pickle.” Abe creased the paper and handed it over to Inez. “Got the words from some letters here, that he sent t’ couple folks in town, sayin’ he’s all for Chinee immigration and women voting.”
Inez grabbed the paper and read. “Interesting,” she said softly.
“And why’s that?”
“I had a very odd conversation with Wesley’s mother at the public reception for Grant last night. Well, it was no conversation, it was more as if she was making a speech to me. She said her son had a bright future in politics an
d would be backing women’s right to vote.”
“Well, he’d be standin’ pretty much alone if’n he did that,” said Abe. “Don’t know how the fella’d get elected, as there’s no women votin’ yet, only men. As for the immigration business, that’s enough to get a fellow tarred and feathered in these parts. Suppose the only reason he isn’t run out on a rail is that he wrote the letter to Harry Gallagher, and Harry’s got a fair bit of pull around the town. No one’s gonna cross him, not even over this. Although I wouldn’t put it past the Silver Mountain Consolidated miners to get more than a mite upset about it.”
She read to the end of the article and said, “Wait. What’s this about a lascivious picture showing the charms of a seductress from the Far East? Is Jed making this up? How on earth did he get his hands on all this?”
Abe shrugged. “Guess you’d better ask him for the details.”
“No thanks.” Inez tossed the paper on the table. “I’ve enough to deal with at this point. Have you any extra sausages, Bridgette? I’m famished.”
“Surely do, ma’am. How did the poor invalid like the biscuits and stew?” Bridgette stabbed two sizzling links with a long and wicked fork and placed them on a plate. “And did you bring back the basket?”
Inez had forgotten all about the invalid story she’d spun for Bridgette. She took the plate and sat across from Abe, giving herself time to think before answering. “She was most thankful and asked me to pass along her gratitude. I forgot the basket. I’ll try to pick it up tomorrow.”
Abe stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles. “Stopped at the post office on my way in. Got a letter for you, Inez.” He indicated the cream-colored envelope on top of an already opened stack of invoices. “Looks like your sister’s hand.”
Inez abandoned the sausages. Using an unsullied cutlery knife, she slit open the envelope carefully and extracted a single sheet. The paper released a small whisper of her sister’s lilac perfume as she unfolded it. The smell, combined with the sight of Harmony’s handwriting caused Inez’s throat to close up.