Her Secret Shame

by Christine Sterling

  She took it, turning it in her hand. “It’s from Misty!” she exclaimed, opening it up excitedly. She glanced through the parchment then back at John. “Is my sister with you? It says that she is not coming back to the hotel.”

  The slight slip caught John off guard. “You are her sister?”

  Mary seemed to realize her own slip. She gasped, covering her mouth. “I forgot that it was supposed to be a secret; please, don’t say anything,” she said, as she put the letter back into the envelope.

  “I won’t repeat,” said John, seeing Mary’s fearful face. “Does anyone else know?”

  “Not as far as I know. I didn’t even know she was here until I came on the train to visit with Elizabeth. It is truly miraculous, like destiny was bringing us together,” she said, looking at a distance before turning back to John. “Is my sister alright? When is she coming back?”

  “She won’t be working here at the hotel anymore.”

  “Oh no,” Mary said, putting her hands in the air in exasperation. “It’s my fault. If I had just listened to her about Clover, none of this would have happened.”

  Clover? So, she was the one that was behind all this. Knowing Misty was hiding the information from him, he took the opportunity that had presented itself in the form of her innocent sister. “Mary, as an officer of the law, it is my duty to bring justice. If you know something, you must tell me right now or face the consequences.”

  This seemed to scare Mary, as her face lost its color. “I didn’t know at first. I thought she was just being nice. And I was terribly mad at Misty for leaving us back then. I might have gone to Clover, just to make her jealous. I thought she was my friend, but I was terribly wrong,” Mary said, as she started to talk about the brothel that was going on inside Mr. Higgins’ hotel. She identified Clover Kelley as the perpetrator and how she had tricked Mary into visiting the gentlemen’s room under the guise of bringing him extra towels and the intent of her keeping him company. That night, Mary was the one that was supposed to be the entertainment, but Misty had intervened at the last minute to save her sister. She wasn’t there because she was actually one of them. John felt a sense of relief, knowing that what he had thought was not what happened.

  After Mary revealed everything, she asked “What will you do now?”

  John tipped his hat towards Mary. “I’m going to bring your sister back to you.”

  It was day four on the ranch and Misty was about ready to give up. Today’s chores were even harder, as she was doing most of them by herself. Beatrice had been preoccupied for the day. The gentlemen she had seen yesterday had come up for a few hours, mostly in her house. Misty tried to get close to listen to what they were talking about, but she was afraid she was going to be seen. She knew that whatever they were discussing, it was making Beatrice unhappy.

  The men had left a few hours ago and Beatrice was still inside the house. Misty tried to stay focused on her chore for the moment, which was hanging the laundry out to dry. But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. She hadn't seen John in so long; she missed him so much. Almost as if he was her actual husband.

  The door opened abruptly, and Beatrice came out. Misty looked towards her and saw her face was angered. She wondered why, but then decided she didn’t care. She was going to do her chores as she was asked to. Beatrice came over to the hill where Misty was putting up the laundry on a wire. “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  Misty set the shirt in her hand with a clothes pin on the wire. “I’m setting up the clothes to dry, as you had asked me to,” Misty said sternly.

  Beatrice shook her head. “That is not what I asked you do to!” she shouted, turning and pointing to the chicken coop. “You were supposed to be feeding the chickens.”

  Misty turned around and looked at Beatrice. Misty prided herself that she had a lot of patience. She was patient with her rambunctious sister as she grew up. She was patient with her young love when he promised that she was his one and only, she was patient as a servant girl for Samantha, even as she fled to the countryside and had left her the burden of keeping the house up as if she hadn’t left. She was patient as a maid at the hotel, even as Clover started to thwart her at every turn. She was even patient on the first day, when Beatrice made ridiculous demands. But now it was day four, and her patience was spent. And she wasn’t in her right mind to keep her mouth shut.

  Misty felt the anger coursing through her veins, the same anger she had kept locked up. She carried this anger with her and it was about to burst forth. She knew that life was unfair, but she felt if she kept at it, one day, she would finally get a break. But now, as she looked into Beatrice’s eyes, she knew that keeping this anger inside was only hurting her. She needed to let it out. “No, I will not feed the chickens.”

  Beatrice looked surprise, bringing her hand to her chest in a distressed manner. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, I will not feed the chickens. And I will not hang the rest of this laundry,” she said, picking up the few shirts from the top of the basket and throwing them on the ground. A loud gasp escaped Beatrice’s lips, as Misty continued. “And I will not cook dinner tonight! Ever since I have been here, you have ordered me around like some sort of servant. But I am not your servant, as I am not employed here as one. And you are a perfectly able body who can take on her fair share of the chores.” Beatrice’s face hardened and burned with anger, but Misty continued. “I am someone who does not seek a hand out, as I am willing to work hard for what I am asking for. But I refuse to be taken advantage of anymore. I will not be your slave, I will not be ordered around, and I will not pretend that I am content with the way you are treating me.”

  Beatrice took a deep breath, as the air charged between them. “And who do you think you are?”

  Misty squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “I am your brother’s wife. And as he is the head of this household, I have more authority than you.”

  Beatrice looked ready to pounce, and Misty was ready to fight back. She was tired of being bossed around, and if this meant slapping some sense into John’s sister, then so be it.

  Before they could move any further, she heard a galloping sound and John was coming up the hill. As soon as he approached, Beatrice turned around and clutched the shawl around her shoulders, like she always did. “Brother!” she shouted, as she walked slowly to his horse.

  Misty rolled her eyes and walked behind her. She was tired of this act that Beatrice was throwing, as she was also tired of John falling for it. She wanted to be mad at him, but just the presence of him made her feel safe and whole. Even though their marriage was a façade, she started pretending he was her real husband. She stopped herself again. She needed to stop thinking in this way; soon, this charade would be over, and she would have to go back to her old life. But she didn’t know what that life would look like now.

  John was already down from his horse, giving his sister a nice hug. “And there is my lovely wife,” he exclaimed, leaning down and kissing her on the lips. Misty was taken aback by his actions, but also welcomed the kiss. She wondered if it had meant something to him, as he leaned back, staring at her with a wide grin. But when she saw Beatrice’s scowling face, she knew it was only to keep up appearances.

  And to needle his sister, she was more than happy to play the part of the obedient wife. “My love,” she said, trying to keep her voice as sweet as possible, “where have you been? I’ve missed you these past few days.”

  Misty thought she might have seen doubt pass through John’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant and he was smiling. “Some work in town kept me away. But I hope that I won’t be away from you now.”

  “Brother,” said Beatrice, her face twisted in annoyance. “You’ve been gone for so long and have probably had a rough day. Let’s go inside. Misty can start....”

  “I’m rather exhausted,” Misty said, cutting Beatrice off. “I think I’ll retire to my room,” she said, setting the last shirt in her hand into the basket. Whe
n she turned and caught Beatrice’s scowling face, she stood on her tippy toes and kissed John on the cheek. “Don’t be long, my love,” she said, patting his arm. As she walked into the house, she knew this would not improve her relationship with Beatrice; but the look on her face was worth the slight discomfort.

  John slipped inside the quiet room, closing the door behind him. It shut softly as he shuffled into the room, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. He had sat through a very long dinner with his sister, where she questioned him about his last few days. She was even more intrigued with the cattle rustlers, more so than John would have liked. But in truth, he was no more knowledgeable than he was before. To be honest, he was more concerned about the brothel that was happening at the hotel. He had done some questioning around. As far as he could tell, old Man Higgins knew nothing about it. It would appear that Clover Kelly was the solo madam of the whole operation.

  What he didn’t know was for how long this had been going on. All his proof was from Mary, and even though he believed her, he didn’t think it would be wise to confront the woman until he had more solid proof. He thought he might bounce around ideas with Beatrice on how to execute a plan, but for some reason he found himself restraining from telling her about it. It just didn’t feel right.

  He had also been a bit preoccupied with his thoughts of Misty. When he came up the hill, it seemed the two women might have been engaged in a fight of some type. He wasn’t sure of what and when he tried to ask his sister, she quickly changed the subject. Though, this didn’t stop her from speaking her mind about his new wife. Beatrice had subtly complained that Misty had been somewhat lazy and was not pulling her weight at the ranch. Although John felt his sister was such a good judge of character, he couldn’t help but wonder if her motives for bad mouthing Misty weren’t seeped in some hidden jealousy. It had only been the two of them for so long, he could understand why she felt the way she did.

  John knew though, Misty was one of the hardest working women he knew. She was, of course, quite stubborn, but she was also very responsible. She looked so exhausted today, so he knew she was pulling some sort of weight. He would have to hire some more men. The two men they did have were not pulling their fair share of the work that was to be done.

  He walked carefully to where he knew his bed was. The candlelight in the nearest lamp was disappearing. He looked at the outline of the woman on the bed, his bed. Misty was sleeping soundly. She looked like an angel, John thought. He had never seen someone so beautiful before. He stared at her for a few long moments, before she stirred. She opened her eyes, peering up at John. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long,” he said as Misty propped herself up on the bed. “Are you not hungry?” he asked, as he reached for her hand on the bed.

  When he grasped it, Misty looked at their joined hands before she answered. “No, I was more tired than anything. I would have stayed up for you, but it’s been an exhausting few days.”

  John nodded. “How are you and Beatrice getting along?” He knew he was treading into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t just let it go. As much as he loved his sister, he wouldn’t subject Misty to such behavior. He would help the two get along because he felt it was important to him.

  At the question, Misty seemed to become visibly uncomfortable. But she recovered quickly. “It’s taking a bit to get used to living on a ranch. I’ve really only lived in the cities; I’m not much used to the ruggedness. But your sister is helping me adjust. She’s been very nice to me.” She smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach her face.

  There was something missing about her statement, but he knew Misty enough to not press the issue. Instead, he decided to ask about another issue. “I was able to deliver your letter,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Misty started to say, visibly relaxing.

  “Why didn’t you tell me Mary was your sister?” he asked.

  Misty stilled, her eyes opening wide and her lip quivering. She took a deep breath, withdrawing her hand from his. “I didn’t think it was anyone’s business.”

  John sighed. He rubbed his hand over his face, frustrated with this woman. “I know that this fake marriage has been a weight on you. But before this, I thought we were friends.”

  Misty crossed her arms, her face scrunched in thought. “I didn’t think it was important for people to know.”

  “I feel like you keep more secrets than truths. It’s like I don’t even know you.”

  “I haven’t lied to you!” she shouted, covering her mouth at her outburst. “I didn’t mean to be deceiving.” She sighed, her eyes shining with earnest. “If I am to be honest, it was a shock to me that she is even here. I haven’t seen her since I was eighteen years old.”

  “But now I understand why I found you that night. You were protecting her.” Misty bit her lip but said nothing. “You don’t have to pretend. Mary told me everything.”

  She turned her head, not looking at him. “Mary should learn to keep her mouth shut. She could never do that, not even as a little girl.”

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of something happening to me. I’m only afraid of what will happen to her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. You wouldn’t understand it.”

  John scooted back onto the bed, so he was sitting next to her. He grabbed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “Let me in.”

  Chapter 12

  Misty looked at their interlocked hands, her head spinning with so many feelings. She was starting to love this man beside her so very much and she knew what would happen if he found out what she was. Who her mother was. And what she had done before she came to be here. She looked up into his eyes; all she saw was the sincerity in his words. But could she trust him?

  Staring into his eyes she realized she did. She trusted him so much that it was going to break her heart when she saw his face as he found out her mother’s misdeeds. But she knew that she couldn’t hold the secrets any longer.

  She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand.

  “I grew up in Georgia. I had a mother who was overbearing and strict and a father who was fun and carefree. And we had a wonderful life full of laughs and fights and makeups and hugs. And it was wonderful until it wasn’t anymore. My father died. It was sudden. He was here one day and then he was gone. And not long after, we learned that the life he had made for us was a fabricated lie. My father had gotten our family into deep trouble, into a debt we weren’t able to manage.

  John nodded, “That sometimes happens if someone dies suddenly, the truth, and not a pretty one at that, has a way of coming to light.” He squeezed her hand signaling for her to continue.

  “My mother, she wasn’t built for any real type of work. Her best skill was her beauty. She never let me forget it, as she told me that this was going to be my skill. I look so much like her, it scares me sometimes. She tried to do what she could, selling the pretty things that my father had given her over the years. And it still wasn’t enough. So, my mother had to make sacrifices. I didn’t realize it until I was older what those sacrifices were and what they cost her. When there was nothing else for us to sell, she sold the only thing she had left that men valued.”

  Misty looked up at John, trying to gauge his feelings. He kept his face impassive, worrying Misty. But she continued anyway, because now she couldn’t stop. “I know she felt she had no other choice. Night after night, these men would come to our house. We were forced to eat dinner with them, like it was any other day. They would make uncomfortable small talk, and more than once, they would comment on how much I looked like my mother, how beautiful I was, how beautiful Mary was. My mother would send us to our rooms after it became too much. And I would distract Mary, when I knew what was going on down there, what my mother had to do. And this continued, for years.

  “I don’t fault my mother for what she did. I don’t doubt that this is what she thought she had to do,
feeling she could do nothing else. But what angers me is that after we got out of the debt and after she had made enough money for us to survive, she didn’t stop. My mother liked pretty things, she reveled in the attention. That was how my father courted her. Though he wasn’t overly handsome, he was confident and successful enough to know how to treat her so well she looked past everything. She loved my father’s gifts more than she loved him. These men would give her little trinkets, special gifts. Our house became full of them. And soon it wasn’t just a job for her anymore. It wasn’t a means of survival. It was a way for her to keep up a lifestyle beyond anything my father had ever given us.

  “I remember going out, doing errands around the town. The whispers were everywhere, and they were too much. Mary, she was lucky. She was young. She didn’t hear it like I did. She didn’t understand what was going on, and I was thankful for that. But I knew. I knew what people said about her, about us. They thought she was running a brothel, that we were also a part of the deal. That she was a hussy and was doing these horrible things even when my father was alive. She was going around and ruining marriages. She was trying to steal their husbands. They said so many mean things about her. No one would come near us. My friends, they stopped playing with me. They stopped even acknowledging me. It was heartbreaking, but I ignored it. I prayed that one day, this would end. One day there wouldn’t be any whispers around me and people would see me for me.”

  John removed his hand and went to stand next to the window. Anger flared in him for this beautiful young lady being put in this situation. He looked at Misty who was looking down at her hands and returned his gaze out the window. He couldn’t see anything because it was dark, so he allowed his thoughts to calm. “What happened next, Misty?”

  “Then I met him. This boy, at this store, who looked at me like I was normal. He didn’t seem to know what I was or who my parents were. He didn’t feel sorry for me. He saw Misty and no one else. And I was thankful for that. It started out as innocent friendship, until it grew to something more. I was young, I thought I was in love. I thought I was going to marry this boy and my life would finally be more than just a whore’s daughter. But I was wrong.”