by Merry Farmer
“Lift it a little higher on that side,” Delilah directed him and the young half-Indian woman she’d hired to work at the hotel. The two of them stood on chairs hanging bunting on the porch. “Maybe down a little on your side, Martha.”
Roy’s arms ached from holding bunting up for so long, but it was nothing to the ache in his heart. That ache got worse when he twisted his neck to stretch it, only to see Sarah turning the corner with Miss Jones, Miss Jacinta Archer, and Miss Gladys Pickering. His pulse beat double-time.
Miss Jones stopped their group in front of the new pharmacy and began talking and pointing at the place. Roy was too far away to hear what she was saying. He leaned out over the porch railing as if that would help.
“Land sake’s, Roy!” Delilah’s bark brought his attention back to his own business. His arms had sagged and the bunting drooped to the side.
“Sorry.” He lifted his end of the fabric up and tacked it into the beam above him.
Delilah saw Sarah and the biddies too. “I never shoulda give you the advice to go after that girl.” She shook her head. “Never mind the fact that you completely missed the intent of that advice in the first place, it’s got you wrapped tighter than you were before.”
Roy stepped down from his chair. “Sorry, Delilah. It won’t happen again.” He moved to fetch a second swath of bunting from the pristine white wicker lounge at the back of the porch.
“I highly doubt that,” he thought he heard Delilah mutter.
He gathered the red, white, and blue material in his arms and carried it to the other side of the porch. As much as he tried to keep his eyes and his mind on his work, his gaze drifted out to the street, to Sarah.
She didn’t look half as determined as she had the other day. The dress she wore was pretty enough, but the stoop of Sarah’s shoulders made it look loose and baggy where it should have been tight and flattering to her figure. Her hair was pulled back in a severe knot, and the bonnet she’d worn the other day was gone, a plain brown thing in its place. The shawl she wore was a ragged mess.
“…which is why we must fight to oppose sin wherever we see it.”
Roy finally caught Miss Jones’s words as the group marched on from the pharmacy and up to the foot of the new hotel’s porch.
“Oh Lordy.” Delilah rolled her eyes as Miss Jones, Miss Archer, and Miss Pickering formed a line facing Sarah at the bottom of the stairs.
“And this, Sarah, this is the very viper’s den!” Miss Jones railed.
Delilah stepped away from the lounge and the pile of bunting and leaned against the post at the top of the stairs. “Morning, Viola.”
Miss Jones pinched her face as tight as it would go, sniffed, and turned away from Delilah.
Delilah tried again. “Morning, Sarah,” she said, a smile in her voice.
Sarah darted an anxious glance to the biddies before cautiously saying, “Morning, Mrs. Reynolds. Morning, Roy.” Her voice died altogether on his name.
“Good morning, Sarah,” Roy scrambled to put things right. “You’re looking pretty as a picture today.”
Before Sarah could so much as blush and say thank you, Miss Jones barked, “You should not speak to the likes of them, Sarah!”
“O-oh?”
“Loose women and reprobates the lot of them!” Miss Pickering added.
Martha popped her head up from her work with a dark scowl. Delilah crossed her arms, a wry grin tipping the corner of her mouth.
“What you see before you is an abomination against nature!” Miss Jones said, pointing up at the hotel.
“Well, this’ll be a treat,” Delilah drawled to Roy.
“The new hotel?” Sarah glanced from Miss Jones to Delilah to Roy and up at the three stories of the hotel.
“It is not just a hotel,” Miss Jones went on, “it is a den of iniquity! It is a resting place for sinners of the basest sort.”
“But … but I don’t think they plan to have entertaining there, do they?”
“No!” Roy answered. “Absolutely not!”
“Don’t listen to her, Sarah. It’s a hotel. That’s that,” Delilah said.
All three of the biddies sniffed and huffed like hens in a yard.
“She would say as much.” Miss Archer tossed her head, her carrot-red curls barely hidden by a bonnet of the ugliest green Roy had ever seen.
“This edifice is a house of deprivation, Sarah,” Miss Jones went on. “Three floors of private rooms. Men and women staying together under the same roof. Who knows what kind of wickedness they will get up to?”
“Folks stay in hotels ‘cuz they want a place to lay their heads at the end of a busy day,” Delilah said. “What they do behind their doors is none of my business and it ain’t none of yours either. Of course, you never did quite grasp the concept of minding your own business, did you?”
Miss Jones narrowed her eyes. “Spoken like a true harlot!” The other two clucked in agreement. “Mark her well, girl. She may claim to have put her past wickedness behind her, but she encourages the wickedness of others!”
“Now hold on a minute.” Roy took a step closer to Delilah’s side. “Delilah’s well known for helping folks in Cold Springs. She gave me a chance.”
“See that?” Miss Jones jabbed her long finger at Roy. “The unrepentant harlot gives shelter to thugs and patronizers of women with no morals!”
“I do believe the word you’re looking for is ‘patrons’, Viola,” Delilah corrected.
Roy would have chuckled, but he was too busy keeping his rage in check. Sarah hunched in on herself more with each word Miss Jones spoke. She worried her fingers through the frayed edge of her shawl.
“Sarah, what are you doing here?” he asked, rushing down the stairs to her.
The biddies blocked the way, forming a wall between the two of them.
“Tell him!” Miss Jones ordered.
Sarah chewed her lip and twisted her shawl. She glanced from Miss Jones to Roy with glassy, worried eyes, then said, “We’re on a Tour of Sin.”
“A what?” Roy asked.
“A Tour of Sin,” Sarah repeated as though reciting a lesson. “We are making a circuit through the town, stopping to observe the immorality of those citizens who choose to fly in the face of God’s will.”
“I’m sorry, whose will was that?” Delilah asked from the top of the stairs, humor gone.
“Sinners should be punished for their iniquity!” Miss Jones insisted.
“Funny, I thought God loved a sinner.”
“Do you hear that, Sarah? Blasphemy!” Miss Jones jerked her chin up, Miss Archer and Miss Pickering mirroring her in a trifecta of indignation.
Sarah moved to tip her chin as well but ended up bobbling her head in confusion. “I think she’s right though,” she said. “When Rev. Andrews comes to preach to the girls at the saloon he always says that God loves us and forgives us and seeks nothing more than our redemption and-”
“Silence, girl! You will speak when you’re spoken to.” Miss Jones’s brow darkened. She pursed her lips and pointed up at the hotel. “You are here to learn from me, and I am telling you that this structure you see before you represents the worst kind of sin.”
“This here is a place of business,” Roy rushed to defend Delilah and his livelihood. “It is a home away from people’s homes, and my aim is to make them feel at home.”
“Disrespect.” Miss Pickering shook her head.
“You will see, Sarah, how those who build themselves up with sin fall harder in the end. A hotel is nothing but a brothel in disguise.”
“But,” Sarah twisted the end of her ragged shawl, “but didn’t the Virgin Mary give birth to baby Jesus in a hotel?”
The biddies laughed and snorted.
“The good Lord was turned away from the inn. That says something if nothing else does!”
“Don’t confuse the poor girl, Viola.” Delilah planted her hands on her hips. “If the baby Jesus or his mother or anyone else in need of shelter for the ni
ght and food in their bellies wants to come to either of my hotels, I won’t turn them away.”
A hint of a smile touched Sarah’s eyes as she met Delilah’s. It vanished a moment later when Miss Jones clamped a hand on Sarah’s arms.
“Come away, Sarah! We have more to see, and I fear if we stay here too much longer, our very souls could be in peril!”
Sarah sent an apologetic look to Delilah. While she was off balance Miss Jones yanked her. She stumbled and the biddies closed around her.
Roy jerked towards her. Jumbled up in the anger and indignation he felt over the way his Sarah was being treated ran a deep river of shame. It was his fault things had come to this. He should have stopped her when he could. He ached to chase after Sarah and whisk her away to safety.
“I reckon you’ve got the right idea there, honey,” Delilah said, nodding to his feet as they inched toward the road. “You’d best go after her. I don’t trust that woman as far as I can throw her.”
He jumped immediately into motion. “I won’t be too long,” he said, forgetting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
He jogged to catch up to the biddies and Sarah, keeping his distance once he’d matched their pace. If Miss Jones or the others knew he was following, they didn’t let on. They kept their backs straight, their noses in the air, and their skirts swishing as they marched. Sarah peeked over her shoulder a time or two, but that blasted brown bonnet covered her face so he couldn’t tell if she was pleased or angry with him.
They kept marching until they got to Main Street. Plenty of folks were out and about on morning business. A few turned to see what was going on as Miss Jones led her band down the street and up to the front of the saloon. Roy’s gut felt as though someone had dumped a load of rocks in it. Sarah must be in agony with so many people watching.
A handful of girls were sitting out on the saloon porch in spite of the November chill, shawls around their shoulders and paint fresh on their faces like an advertisement. They glanced up in mild curiosity as the biddies and Sarah stopped in front of them.
“Witness the most wretched abomination in our unfortunate town, Sarah!” Miss Jones declared, flinging out her arm. “Our own plague of locusts!”
The saloon girls blinked and exchanged looks. “There ain’t no locusts in November,” one of them said.
Miss Jones hissed in exasperation and dropped her arm heavily to her side. “What you see before you is the worst kind of licentiousness, Sarah. Fornication. Women whose sole purpose is to tempt mankind into forsaking the path of righteousness.”
“They lure the men of our town away from their homes and families and pollute them!” Miss Archer added.
Miss Jones pursed her lips at the interruption and went on. “They are evil harpies, every one of them, and this building they inhabit is a nest of damnation!”
“Charming new friends you got, Sarah,” one of the saloon girls, Gertie, said, rising from her seat against the porch railing. She flipped the long corkscrew of her honey-brown hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms under her ample bosom, looking down her nose at the biddies. One of the other girls got up and slipped sideways into the saloon, leaving the door cracked open behind her.
“Insolence,” Miss Pickering said.
“That’s just Gertie,” Sarah mumbled, working herself up to meeting Miss Jones’s eyes. “She’s loud, but she don’t mean no harm. And the others, why, they’re just doing what they have to do, same as I was.”
“They are not the same as you are,” Miss Jones contradicted her. “You had the good sense to get away from this life and to come to us to reform you. They continue to wallow in their sin.”
“My contract is up next spring, and I’m going to Sacramento, to my sister’s family,” Lacey, another of the girls, said.
Splotches of red formed on Miss Jones’s face. “Harlots, the lot of them!” she ignored Lacey. “This blight corrupts our entire town. It should be burned to the ground.”
“Now hold on there!” Roy stepped forward at last. “You can’t just go saying people’s businesses should be burned down because you don’t like them. That’s a criminal offense. Do I need to go get Sheriff Porter?”
The biddies and the saloon girls both scoffed and snorted at the suggestion. As soon as Miss Jones saw that she and the saloon girls agreed on something, her back went straighter.
“Mr. Porter is a decent enough fellow,” she said, “but as a sheriff-”
“He’s horse hockey,” Gertie finished. She and the girls laughed. The biddies clucked and fussed. Sarah twisted the edge of her shawl.
The saloon door swung violently open and Paul Sutcliffe stepped out onto the porch, the girl who had disappeared into the saloon peeking out behind him.
“What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.
“Sarah?” Miss Jones snapped.
“Good morning, Mr. Sutcliffe,” she greeted him, her head lowered and her hands pulling at the edge of her frayed shawl so hard that long threads were coming out. “We’re on a Tour of Sin.”
Paul gaped at her, concern warring with indignation in his eyes. At last he clamped his mouth closed. “I don’t even want to know.” He shook his head. “Sarah, get away from those dried up old spinsters. Come home.”
The biddies yelped and shivered in indignation. “Why I never!” Miss Archer cried.
“No, I don’t expect you have,” Gertie muttered. She and the other saloon girls burst into snorts and giggles behind their hands. Miss Archer’s face grew red enough to match her hair.
“How dare you suggest that we are dried up old spinsters when our fates are your fault?” Miss Jones demanded.
Paul blinked at her, then narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “For the last time, Viola. It was twenty years ago. I asked Delilah to walk out with me and we had fun and that’s that. That was no reason to spread lies all over the damn place. Don’t you think it’s about time you get over it?”
Miss Jones sputtered, but a genuine fear and sadness came into her eyes. She darted a glance to her friends before saying, “I was not referring to that whore’s usurpation of my rightful place.”
Paul sighed. “Delilah’s no whore.” He paused. “All right, so she’s a whore. But so was a lot of women in these parts back then. Things were barely settled and there was five times the men that there were women.”
“That is not what I am referring to! Your establishment-”
“Is a legitimate business. A thriving business at that.”
“Your business takes honest men away from upright women and turns them into fornicators,” she pushed on over him. “It deprives respectable women of decent husbands.” Miss Archer and Miss Pickering nodded in agreement.
“Men need an outlet,” Paul shrugged. “I needed an outlet. And I saw you for the vindictive shrew you were long before you proved me right. So get your head out of your ass and stop messing with my Sarah!”
The sound Miss Jones made was so shrill that Roy winced and rubbed his ear.
“Mark him well, Sarah. This is a man who would choose sin over saintliness!”
“Any day,” Paul drawled.
“His eternal fate has already been decided! His devilish choices have not brought him comfort or the security of a home. That harlot left him!” A gloating smile spread across her lips. Paul’s face clouded over into fury. “Yes she did! And now he’s going to die alone!”
Sarah gasped. “You’re not going to die, are you, Mr. Sutcliffe? I’ll come take care of you. I’ll nurse you back to health and-”
“Silence!” Miss Jones boomed.
“Don’t you speak to her like that!” Mr. Sutcliffe matched her fury. “Sarah is worth more than the lot of you put together! And no, sweetheart, I ain’t dying. At least not yet. And I ain’t alone. Don’t you listen to a word that bitter old woman has to say.”
“No, sir.” Sarah bit her lip, twisting the ruined edge of her shawl. She glanced to Roy for help, but all he could do was meet h
er eyes with impotent worry.
“You’ll regret your choices, Paul Sutcliffe!” Miss Jones railed on, her voice so tight it might shatter. “Sins do not go unpunished! Justice is always meted out on those who deserve it, one way or another.”
“Get off my porch, Viola,” Paul answered her.
“Come along, Sarah!” Miss Jones grabbed Sarah’s arm and turned to drag her off. Sarah dropped the edge of her shawl and stumbled to follow.
“Hold on there!”
Paul took two long steps off of the porch and caught up to Sarah, touching the edge of her shawl.
“Who did this?” His voice shook with fury and his face went beet red as he held up the tattered cloth. “Who did this!”
Roy looked closer. The shawl that Sarah always wore, the one she loved dearly, had been butchered. Someone had chopped all the fringe off.
“Tell him!” Miss Archer gave the order this time.
Sarah tuned to Paul, swallowing, eyes red-rimmed, and explained. “Miss Archer says that vanity is the Devil’s work. She cut the fringe off and threw it away so that I could wrap myself in the reminder of the wickedness of my past.”
“You uptight little bitch!” Paul roared. Miss Archer backpedaled with a shriek. “I gave Sarah that shawl for Christmas last year!”
“I told you that destroying it was a bad idea,” Miss Pickering mumbled.
“It was a sign of wickedness!” Miss Archer defended herself. “Vanity is a sin.”
“Is it, now?” Roy asked, voice shaking as he looked Miss Archer up and down, surveying her shining, green checked taffeta dress and its layers of ruffles.
“I told you,” Miss Pickering repeated.
“Oh, so I suppose it would have been a greater lesson to have the girl scrub the floor in your room?” Miss Archer fired back.