Lisbeth shrugged. “I guess it’s probably because of Sarah, his fiancée. They were going to get married, but she skipped town right before the wedding. Her family told Ethan she didn’t wish to speak to him again, and no one ever found out why.”
“How sad.” How could a woman be cruel to Ethan? He seems so kind. And he sure ain’t . . . isn’t hard on the eyes. Dust from the barn settled on Darla’s skin and made her feel as though she was wearing a powdery mask. She wiped her face with her apron. “When did all that happen?”
“About two years ago. And then Lew, Ethan’s older brother, left. So Ethan stuck around to help out.” Lisbeth frowned. “Of course, that was right before I came to live here. I heard about it from some of the other ladies.”
“Do ladies come and go often?”
Lisbeth poured her milk in the large pail. “Some find husbands and get married, and Ma Downs is always checking the newspaper for employment suitable for one of us. But some stay longer than others. Indigo has been here the longest.”
Darla leaned against the barn wall. “So I could be sent away to . . . I don’t know, work in a factory?”
“No one’s going to a factory.” Lisbeth rolled her eyes. “Ma Downs would never force a woman to go somewhere she doesn’t want to be.”
“Well, that’s fortunate.” Darla’s stomach grumbled. “Is it breakfast time yet?”
Lisbeth laughed. “I’m hungry too. They should be ringing the bell any time now. No one goes with an empty belly. We get rooms to lay our heads and a chance to keep our souls. Not many other places in this world where women like us could do that.”
The pale blue eyes pierced into Darla’s heart, and for a startling instant she wondered if Lisbeth had some sort of second sight, to see into the secrets of her past.
What an absurd notion. She shrugged and followed the girl through the door.
###
At breakfast, a little black girl Darla hadn’t seen before darted around the table delivering platters of bacon and steaming biscuits. Her hair, like dark cotton, was gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck and her apron was fashioned from bright scraps of fabric.
“Who is that?” Darla whispered to Lisbeth while Ma Downs was looking the other way.
“Patience. She’s the cook’s daughter.”
At home on Dad’s farm, the hired hands and members of the house all ate at the same table. But, Darla remembered, they had all been white. People with different colored skin weren’t allowed to eat at the same table, just like Comanches weren’t allowed to live in the state of Texas. Why does skin color play such a part in our customs? I wonder how God feels about that.
Last night, she’d been far too flustered to pay much attention to the other women at the table, though Lisbeth had introduced her to everyone between meals. Today she studied everyone a bit closer while she ate her breakfast.
Indigo sat beside Lisbeth. She was thin and dark-haired, with a jagged scar that ran down the side of her face like a tear stain.
Sadie and Marnie Pennel sat on the other side of the table. They were sisters, a few years older than Darla. They seemed to giggle more than they talked.
At forty-ish, Mrs. Brodie was the oldest of “The Unfortunates” as Darla had begun to call them in her head. She was petite as a child and held her spoon in claw-like fingers, studying her eggs as though she suspected they might be poisoned.
Ma Downs surveyed everyone with a contented air, like a mother hen regarding her chicks.
Ethan smiled at her from his end of the table, and Darla dug a spoon into her bowl of grits, finding that she looked forward to the morning’s errands with great anticipation.
###
Darla came down the front porch carrying loaves of bread wrapped in cloths. She smiled at Ethan, and his eyes lit up.
A different look flickered over Ma Downs’s face. She squinted as she took the bread from Darla and placed it in the cart.
Darla knew that look. Mothers used to give it to her all the time during the saloon days when she’d winked at their sons on the street.
I can’t help it if Ethan’s taken a fancy to me, she huffed inside. I don’t rightly know how any man could think me attractive in these dowdy sacks she’s given me to wear. Not that I’m ungrateful. Wrapped up in these thoughts, she stepped squarely into a puddle. Mud splattered the leather shoes, which she’d worked so hard to clean the night before.
Darla looked back at Ma Downs and tried to smile. These people have given me a place to stay and honest work, she reminded herself. I must do what I can to keep in their good graces. I’ve got no business flirting with this man, especially when he has been through so much pain.
“Have a good day,” Ma Downs told Ethan. Her eyes slanted back to Darla, resting on her face. “And please be careful. Looks like it won’t rain, at least.” The tall woman swished back into the house.
“Isn’t that fortunate?” Darla called after her.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
Darla tried adopting a more dignified stride back up to the porch to fetch the remaining bread, but only succeeded in slipping on the third stair.
Ethan caught her shoulder. “Whoa, there. You don’t want to end up in the mud.”
“I believe I’ve forgotten how to walk this morning.” Darla managed to make it up the stairs and back again with the rest of the bread. She peered over the side of the small wooden cart. A giant cast-iron kettle squatted in the back, with a dipper hanging on the lip.
“No bowls?” she asked.
“Most people bring their own. You’ll see.” Ethan tightened the straps on the mule’s halter. He tugged on the animal’s lead and the cart trundled through the gate, down past the grand old houses of the neighborhood. Each was situated several hundred yards from the other, some separated by patches of trees and stately, tall fences. Many of the homes had been lovingly maintained, repainted and repaired. But a few seemed barely livable, with sagging porches and jagged, broken windows.
The tenth house was the worst of them, looking as though a sneeze might bring it crashing down. Ethan halted at the front gate and tied the mule’s lead to a rotted fence post.
“He doesn’t spook easily, does he?” Darla imagined the beast bolting, the gate clattering down the road behind him.
“Nope.” Ethan rang a rusty bell by the gate.
The front door swung open. A woman who looked so frail that a brisk wind might blow her away came out and shuffled down the path. A man in similar condition soon came behind her. Bringing up the rear was a little dog. It bounded around their feet, ears perked and tail wagging.
Darla put a hand up to her mouth and silently prayed neither person would trip and fall to their deaths, but the couple and dog moved in perfect rhythm, like they had been doing the same dance for years.
The man and woman reached the cart and held out crudely carved bowls in withered hands.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wysmith, how are things?” Ethan ladled soup into the bowls and handed the woman a loaf of bread.
Mrs. Wysmith pursed her lips until they almost disappeared into wrinkles. “Oh, about how they should be, son. The winter breezes blow right through the parlor, you know, since the storm damaged the wall.”
Ethan put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll come by to take a look this afternoon. And I’ll try to bring some firewood, if any can be spared.”
“Bless you, son.” The bright eyes, sunk deeply into aged sockets, studied Darla’s face. “Now, who is this pretty girl you’ve brought along today?” Mrs. Wysmith grinned, revealing a mouth of rotten teeth.
“I’m Darla. Here, let me help you carry your bread.” Darla took the loaf from the woman’s shaking hands, worried it might end up in the mud.
Mrs. Wysmith leaned heavily on her arm as they headed back to the house, with Mr. Wysmith shuffling behind.
“That Ethan,” Mrs. Wysmith said. “We’ve known the lad since he was a baby, and he’ll have a special place in Heaven, sure is sure. We’d be s
tarved and frozen to death if it weren’t for the good folks livin’ in the Downs.”
“Not all of them have been good. You memberin’ that Cathy Hale?” wheezed Mr. Wysmith, speaking for the first time. “She stole sumthin’. Must have been a spoon, weren’t it, Mother?”
Mrs. Wysmith waved her hand, a movement perilous to her balance. “Yes, yes, but she didn’t stay too long. Ma Downs don’t hold with that kind of behavior.”
The small party reached the front porch steps.
“I promise I won’t take your spoons.” Darla opened the door and placed the bread on the dingy counter inside. “You two have a lovely day now, you hear?” Before she could stop herself, she winked at the old man.
His eyes, which had been glittery slits for most of the conversation, popped open. “Did ya see that, Mother? That pretty gal winked at me!” A slow grin spread over his face. “I ain’t had a woman wink at me in a coon’s age.”
Darla picked up her skirts and fled down the path. Her heart was pounding when she reached the cart.
Ethan gave her a lazy smile. “They’re just elderly folks, not ghosts.”
“Oh, I know. They were delightful. It’s just . . . Oh, never mind.” Darla fell back in step with the cart, wondering if she’d ever learn how to be a proper lady.
4 TEMPTING TUNE
“I’m sorry, we don’t have any more.” Darla gave an apologetic smile.
The toothless woman holding a cracked earthen platter shot her a dark look and limped away without a word.
Darla dropped the ladle into the pot. “Poor thing. I know what it’s like to go hungry. Could we go back to the house and fetch something for her?”
“Don’t worry, she’s from the poor farm.” Ethan placed the lid over the container. “The city has a place where people can work for room and board. She’ll get supper tonight.”
“I’m glad.” Darla squinted after the woman, who had almost reached the end of the street. Is that where I would be if it weren’t for the kindness of Ma Downs? The poor farm? She shivered. It didn’t sound like a very nice place.
Ethan tied the lead to a post. “Darla, would you mind waiting here for a moment?” He gestured to a side street. “I’d like to check on a man who lives down that way. This part of the street looks too muddy for the cart and I’d rather not have to dig it out of a rut. Besides, this fellow can be a bit crazy now and then.” He rubbed his chin. “He gets kind of spooked around strangers.”
Darla drew herself up. “You don’t think I can handle crazy?”
“Well . . .” A hint of red tinged Ethan’s cheeks. “He has been known to forget his clothes on occasion.”
As if that would shock me. “All right, I suppose I can stand here and listen to the grass grow.”
While Ethan disappeared down the muddy lane, a tune drifted through the winter breeze to Darla’s ear. Tinny piano music held the promise of laughter and scalding beverages to chase away the cold and troubles of the world, if only for a little while. She turned to listen. She’d only worked at one saloon with a piano, and the instrument had been the establishment’s only attribute. Sometimes when the place was closed, she’d go downstairs and attempt to pick out tunes on the cracked ivory keys.
I should stay here and wait for Ethan. Why go looking for trouble? But her fingers had other notions. In an instant she’d untied the lead and was pulling the mule in the direction of the familiar sound. Around one turn, and then another, until she found herself on a main city street.
“Ohhhh.” Various jobs had led her through a string of one-horse towns. Nothing could have prepared her for the long rows of buildings set out on the lane. Fancy buggies and shabby carts jostled for a path down the cobblestones, and dozens of people strolled over the boardwalks. Some paused before shop windows to examine the latest wares being offered, while others hurried on mysterious errands, known only to themselves.
Darla ducked her head and guided the mule towards the music, until she stood before a gaudy building with a false front.
A wide, gleaming porch opened to the street. Hand-painted signs advertising the saloon’s attractions covered the walls and posts.
DANCING GIRLS!
BEST WHISKEY IN DALLAS!
Darla couldn’t see through the darkened windows, but men’s laughter rang through the walls. A woman’s voice, slightly off-key, sang along with the piano.
Her toes twitched in her shoes, and she fought the urge to step up and peek through the window. How fancy are these Dallas saloons anyway?
She folded her arms against herself. I’m not going any closer. I’d better leave right now. Ethan will be wondering about me.
“Hey, down there!” A lady wearing a fluffy silk dress that would have given Ma Downs a fit of vapors called from the balcony. “Did you lose your way, Goldilocks?”
Darla bit back a rude reply and shook her head. “No, just listening to the music, that’s all.”
The saloon girl descended a tiny spiral staircase, lifting high her already scandalously short skirts with a white-gloved hand. “I see.” She tipped back the parasol she held and surveyed Darla with an appraising eye. “Yes, I had a feeling. You’re one of them common girls. It’s the way you walk. Ain’t no hidin’ it.”
Darla’s palms grew sweaty and she fought the urge to wipe them on the skirts of her dress. “I beg your pardon!”
“No sense getting uppity, ladies of entertainment can spot each other a mile off. Oughta know that, don’t ya? Except I’s got my morals and stipulations.”
“Stipulations?” Darla’s fingers crept to her cheeks. “Are you calling me a brothel girl? Because I’m not one of those. It was our job to keep men coming back for whiskey and dances, but that was all.”
“My mistake, darlin’.” The woman pulled a small pot of rouge from the recesses of her dress and rubbed a dot of color into each cheek. “Still . . .” She glanced back up at Darla, her gaze lingering on the bruised eye. “You look like you’ve had it kinda rough. Here the men treat us like gold. The owner wouldn’t stand for us to be hurt. More ‘n one time he’s chased some brutish fellow down the street with a shotgun.”
“That must be nice.” Darla said in spite of her irritation. One especially awful night came to mind. She and two other girls had hidden in the stables during a saloon-wide brawl. Three men had died, and another girl had her arm broken when she’d been pushed down the front porch stairs.
The woman, whose eyes already bore tiny laugh lines, clicked her tongue. “You poor dear. Sometimes we don’t have a choice about where we end up, do we?” She patted Darla’s arm with plump fingers that sparkled with rings. “I’d suggest you come and ask for a job here, but my boss won’t hire a common small-town girl, even if she is pretty as the first flower of spring.”
‘No, thank you. I have a place.” Darla lifted her chin and stalked away, dragging the mule from the patch of grass he’d found by the porch. Despite her flippant response, tears stung the corners of her eyes. Not even the saloons here would want me. I’d better not mess up at Downs House. She tightened her fingers around the lead.
“I’ve brought you this far.” A voice from deep inside of her being spoke.
Years before, Darla had heard Bible stories in Sunday school about people who heard the voice of God. But she’d never experienced it, and truly, had never thought of herself as the sort of person God would care to speak with. But somehow she knew it was Him. A warm feeling crept into her heart, like hot apple cider at Christmas or a hug from her father. She bowed her head. “Dear God,” she said with a catch in her throat. “I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful. I just don’t want to ruin everything.”
Footsteps thudded behind her. She whirled around to see Ethan.
His mouth was drawn down at the corners. “Darla, why did you wander all the way over here? I was worried when I came back and you were gone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was . . . reading these signs.” Darla waved at the plaques decorating the front of the establishment
.
Ethan studied the walls and his eyes widened. “I’m sure we could find you better things to read at the house.” His eyes shifted from side to side and he lowered his voice. “It’s probably best to stay away from this place. These ladies aren’t very . . . nice.”
Darla stumbled after the cart as they turned toward home. Her lips twitched, and a thought broke free from her mind and poured from her lips. “Stop me if I’m wrong,” she heard herself say, “But didn’t Christ spend time with sinners?”
Ethan turned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, now, yes, I’m sure I’ve heard a passage or two about that.”
“And didn’t He forgive a sinful woman? I’d bet she wasn’t what most people would consider ‘nice’.
A slow smile spread across Ethan’s handsome face where a shadow of a beard was growing.
Darla fought a sudden urge to run a finger along his skin and feel those whiskers for herself. “Well now, shouldn’t those folks be the ones Christians try to help? Aren’t these the people you and your ma help every day? I didn’t hear you asking for confessions before you ladled out soup in the street.”
Ethan stopped short. “I can’t argue with you there. But here’s the problem: what if certain folks don’t want help? If they chose to live that life, and they’re fine and dandy with it?”
“That’s true.” Darla remembered the first time she’d met Soonie. She’d had no intention of leaving the saloon life, and probably never would have if Mr. Gandro hadn’t beat the stuffing out of her.
Ethan turned and studied her. Pain glimmered in his eyes, along with hope, and kindness, and so many other things her mind found it hard to touch on.
Flutters of something she couldn’t describe darted around in her chest. Perhaps because of the sincerity in his face. She hadn’t been in the presence of a man she could trust since her daddy had passed away. Except for Brother Jenkins. And he hardly counted.
The Saloon Girl's Journey (Texas Women of Spirit Book 3) Page 3