by Louisa Trent
The clinks and clatters bounced onto her bloodied loins, the small fortune in gold decorating her red triangle of curls. She picked up the scatter of riches in both palms and let the coins fall like heavy gold raindrops between her fingers.
Josh had paid for her virginity like she was a common whore...
"Well, lookie here, lads! If it isn't the brawler from the taproom," a voice said from the direction of the threshold.
The breeze off the river must have blown the door open, she thought, getting into a naked crouch on the bed, the gold coins falling from her pubic hair onto the linen, as she faced down the five whaling merchants from the earlier taproom altercation.
"What do you want?" she asked the last man into the room, the tall, bearded one who closed the door behind him.
"What do we want? Why, I reckon we want us some fun, right lads?"
The other four agreed that fun was what they were after.
"You have a lot to make up for whore, after the way your customer roughed us up."
The whaling merchants thought her a paid whore too.
No use contradicting the filthy assessment, when the proof was festooned in gold across her belly.
Saying nothing in her own defense, Harry picked up the coins. She placed each one back in the purse, closing the clasp tight. Done with that, she rose from the bed.
"As you can no doubt see, I don't come cheap," she said defiantly. "You gents might have a hankerin' to bed me, but even if you pooled every last coin in your pockets, it wouldn't come close to my asking price for the privilege."
She drew back her shoulders. "So, either cough up the fee, or get the hell out of my way."
All bluster, of course. All swagger and blowhard. She had gleaned the make of the cowardly sods when they had tried to build themselves up by ripping Joshua down.
Just as she had done.
No time for regrets now. Later, she would let shame pour over her at her unfeeling words to Josh. If she showed weakness now, if she cried over spilt milk, she would be gang-raped. And how would that serve anyone?
She fully intended to save herself for Joshua, to try again at what she had failed at before ... after she had apologized to him for her pain-provoked insults.
Picking up her discarded bundle of clothes from the rough timber floor, she reached into the pocket of her trousers, and pulled out the silver knife she had stolen from the tavern, her severance pay.
Her Quaker father had been a pacifist, an abolitionist, a practitioner of tolerance. Some of his teachings had stuck and some had not. Turning her cheek was one of the things that had not adhered. But correcting a social injustice? Now there was a teaching that had stayed fixed. The way Harry saw it, stealing from the rich--a tavern owner, for example--and giving to the poor and downtrodden--namely her--was the epitome of correcting social injustice. She stole silverware, especially cutlery, because of its beauty and practicality. Fine knives in particular could be resold on the street for a tidy profit, plus they came in handy for carving manners into a bunch of rowdies.
Harry held the hilt of the blade loosely, as Josh had taught her for gutting a fish. "Maybe I can't take all of you on, but I can sure as hell manage one. Speak up! Who's volunteering to get gelded?"
When no one stepped forward, Harry shouldered her way past the drunken louts and marched naked down the hall. She needed to speak to Miss Ruby about working at the brothel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Harry spun her knife with a quick flex of her wrist, spearing the cucumber mid-air. "What I don't understand is, if it's too fuck'n hot outside to serve reg'lar soup, why bother making soup at all? And who the hell would want to slurp cold cucumber soup in an entry, anyway?"
Ruby Patterson looked up from her chopping. "My dear, the word is entrée not entry. One doesn't drink soup of any kind in an entry; one drinks it before the entrée. And a person of quality never slurps anything, anywhere. Now please, return to the task at hand, which is the thin slicing of these vegetables."
"Well, shoot! Cold soup makes no goddamn never mind to me."
"While I do admire your balls Harriet, I prefer them hanging on a man."
Harry scratched her ear. "Huh?"
"A lady, my dear, never uses bad language, poor grammar or slurred diction," the brothel madam scolded in modulated tones.
"Well, that information does me a shit-load of good. I ain't fixin' to be no lady. Whoring is what I need to learn."
"A man will pay well for a mistress, if she is can conduct herself as a lady in his drawing room and a whore in his bed." Ruby laughed as she diced some fresh herbs. "If she can also cook, the world is her oyster."
"Sounds fishy to me, and it still don't explain the cold cucumber soup," Harry grumbled, returning to her former slicing.
"Practice," Ruby said, and Harry still didn't know what the hell the brothel proprietor meant. All Harry knew is she had been working inside the whorehouse kitchen all week and she was no closer to learning how to please a man ... or how to lose her fear of doing so ... than when she had first stepped through the door. And she had to learn the tricks of the trade for Joshua. Before he left on his whaling expedition, she intended to show him she was a woman, not a frightened child. If she didn't, after all those hateful things she'd said, he might never come back to her.
"Miss Ruby, I learn fast. You can see how quick I picked up cooking. When are we moving on to the whoring part of my education?"
"The first lesson you must learn is that seduction is all about mystique. Feminine allure. Fantasy. Beauty alone isn't enough to entice a man; an element of carnal mystery is also required."
"Speak plain. I can't understand all those high-falutin' phrases."
"My dear, you are not playing up any of your attributes. You have a beautiful clear complexion, glorious red hair, remarkably straight white teeth--"
"I ain't no horse up for sale."
"Oh, but you are up for sale, my dear. Do not doubt it for a moment. Now, may I continue?"
"Sure. I'm all ears," Harry said, lining up the sliced cucumber pieces in a straight row.
"Very nice ears they are too. Small and flat, with earlobes suited for the wearing of diamonds. Someday, in gratitude for dispensing your favors, men will shower you with gifts. After we finish practicing, you will have your earlobes pierced in preparation for wearing those precious stones."
Harry didn't want gifts from men, didn't care about jewels at all; she only cared about Josh. Pride prevented her from explaining this to Miss Ruby, just as pride prevented her from making her way in this world on her back. But Harry was not so foolishly prideful that she didn't understand that Ruby and her whores had a lot to teach her.
There was education; then again, there was education.
She needed to learn the art of man-pleasing and Miss Ruby needed some kitchen help, so Harry washed dishes and peeled cucumbers in exchange for some bed pointers. Never again would she feel ignorant about the man/woman thing. Never again would fear cost her something she wanted. Armed with a woman's knowledge, she intended to fight for what she wanted, and she wanted Josh.
"You are also tall and thin," Miss Ruby continued. "Though your breasts are small yet, they will most likely continue to develop."
"Whew! That's a relief," Harry told her new employer. "I thought maybe they had quit growing on me. Here's hoping they grow to watermelons. "
"Not all men require voluptuousness. Some men find a small bust and narrow hips charming. I will teach you to make the most of what you do have. A corset will narrow your already narrow waist to the point of envy, and a padded bustle will fill out your small derriere. Good posture will do wonders for your bust."
Harry promptly stopped slouching.
"Did you know that cucumbers remove puffiness from beneath the eyes, and also act as an astringent to tighten the pores?" Miss Ruby offered.
"Nope, can't say that I did." Harry reached for an enormous cucumber.
"Don't slice that one." Miss Ruby held out
"Right size for what?" Harry handed it over.
"For our lesson. Now that the preparations for the soup are completed, you will begin your training on pleasing a man--through other means than his stomach."
Holding the cucumber between two palms, Miss Ruby began to caress the green skin. "For demonstration purposes, let us pretend this is a man's cock."
Harry giggled at the coarse word falling from Miss Ruby's ladylike lips. "It's too big."
"Not if you are fortunate, my dear."
So, though large, Josh hadn't been abnormal...
Harry wished she had had that important piece of information at her disposal a week earlier, perhaps then she wouldn't have been so a'scared.
Ignorance and fear. Both had paralyzed her, both had caused her to reject the man she loved.
"One takes the erect cock like so," Miss Ruby continued, rubbing and squeezing her fingers up and down the green vegetable in a milking motion, that made butterflies flutter in Harry's belly. "If the well-endowed man likes oral gratification, those inches can present quite the challenge--unless that lady has some experience."
"Wait--oral gratification?"
"I will make up diagrams later. For right now, know that there are three ports a male may enter the female--mouth, vagina and anus. Only a vaginal entry has the possibility of conceiving a child."
"I wish to learn all three!" If she was to have a chance with Joshua, she must make him see she was no child. He would leave New Bedford soon, gone for four years. Before he departed, Harry needed to show him, prove to him, how much she loved him! "How long will the instruction take?"
"With your enthusiasm, my dear, not long at all. I have trained the best in the business. Your full attention now, if you please."
The brothel madam kissed the top of the cucumber, then delivered tiny nips in a circular motion. Next, she licked the green length, from top to bottom, sucked at the top until her cheeks indented, before inserting the cucumber in her mouth. Before Harry's astonished eyes, the whole vegetable disappeared down Miss Ruby's throat.
"How'd you do that?"
Of course, what with Miss Ruby being in the middle of the lesson and all, the madam couldn't answer.
Next it was Harry's turn. Swallowing a cucumber whole was a sight harder than it looked. Then again, Miss Ruby also made cooking look easy. Harry sputtered and choked, and got nowhere. But even though her palms turned green, her lips grew swollen, her throat tightened, she didn't give up. Practice makes perfect. That's what Josh always said.
And in her case it did. Before the day was out, Harry could accommodate any vegetable in the larder. That part of the feat accomplished, teacher and student moved on to swallowing seed. Not cucumber seed, neither.
As Harry knelt on the floor, Miss Ruby squeezed out blast after blast of gooey paste from a pastry bag at the back of her student's throat. The emulsion tasted horrid! The madam serenely advised that regardless of the taste, the paste must be swallowed. Afterwards, Harry was to smile, lick her lips, and tell the man his cum tasted very fine indeed.
Miss Ruby also informed Harry that coarse words like "cum," though completely unacceptable in polite conversation, often acted as a stimulant in the bedroom, whatever that meant, Miss Ruby didn't speak any too clear. But not daring to ask--or argue--Harry committed each and every stimulating word to memory.
* * * *
"Rise and shine, my dear," the whorehouse madam said, whipping the linens from the bed, which left Harry bare-arsed. She had never slept naked before, but when Miss Ruby explained sleeping in the altogether was the de rigueur for ladies with whoring in mind, Harry had opened her mind, and gone without her usual voluminous nightgown.
"Do I get to wear a wrap?" Harry asked, as her teacher drew back the curtains and sunlight made her sleepy eyes squint.
"No clothing for you today, my dear. You must become accustomed to your own nudity."
"I am not a priss!" Harry protested, her fingers going to her newly-pierced ear lobes. "I said naught last night, when the fancy ladies discussed my 'gina like it was a public park or somethin'."
"The word is va-gina, dear. And in the drawing room, you will disavow all knowledge of that region of your anatomy. In the bedroom, you will use the word 'pussy', or better yet 'cunt.' These crass words simply drive males wild. And no, I don't believe you are prissy, and that is an asset. Still, you must learn to move gracefully, au natural. You tend to clop around in your boots and breeches. Today, we learn the basics of movement sans apparel. On the morrow, you read."
"Books?"
"Exactly. The most important sex organ is the mind. You will exercise it each morning. In the afternoon, you will learn decorum and manners and diction. You must speak, act, and think like a lady, Harriet..."
And so it went, day in and day out. With the fervency of a recently converted zealot, Harry applied herself to each facet of her education. After three months of lessons in the kitchen, bedroom and drawing room, she could make a roux as easily as she could make a curtsey, and she could seduce a man while doing either or both. A smile, a rolled back sleeve, the merest hint of ankle--all were subtle enticements to a man. In public, ladies should always use a subtle approach. In private was something else again; there, her "natural lack of inhibitions and joie de vive," as Miss Ruby liked to call her friskiness, came in right handy.
Miss Ruby also said her pupil, meaning her, Harry, was "truly gifted in the sensual arts and would make a fortune as a demimonde in Europe, or a courtesan in this country, or a rich man's mistress anywhere." Harry didn't let the compliments go to her head; Joshua was the only man she wished to please. But true to his word--he was always damn true to his damn word--Josh didn't try to see her again.
On the day the whaler was due to weigh anchor, Harry swallowed the final lump of pride stuck in her throat, and told Miss Ruby she would need time off from her kitchen duties that day; she would not let Josh board the Regina Marie the way things stood between them. Regardless of the heated words they had exchanged, she would bid him farewell, just as she had always done. After a lengthy toilette, she attired herself from skin out in new garments--cotton drawers, lawn petticoat, batiste and lace camisole, whale-boned corset. The stays pushed her slight bosom up and out, and a small amount of horsehair padding worn over the petticoats added extra dimensions to her backside where none existed. The gown was a cotton day dress, with brown and beige stripes; a large bow sat on the bustle, and a lace ruche adorned the high neckline. Brown kid slippers and gloves, a crimson bonnet, a paisley shawl, and a new reticule weighted down with an old money purse, completed the outfit.
At first, Harry set out with lady-like decorum, her footsteps quickening as she approached the end of Water Street. Past the columns of the Double Bank Building she raced. Past Rodman Candleworks, where the prized spermaceti candles were made--so prized because they were smokeless, dripless, and burned bright on the darkest of nights. She carefully skirting the remains of whales left on the streets, while trying not to gag at the stench emanating from Rose Alley, still odious despite the flowers the league of society ladies had planted.
Though her faith had lapsed after her father's death, and she wasn't religious minded any more, she said a little prayer before the doors of the Seaman's Brothel. Generally speaking, chaplains used to conduct services aboard the decks of whatever ships happened to be in port. But twelve years prior, in the year 1832, amid the hue and cry that New Bedford was made up of naught but taverns and boardinghouses and brothels, the Port Society for the Moral Improvement of Seamen got together, and built the small and modest wooden church building on Johnny Cake Hill, as a moral reminder to whalers that there was more to life than whoring and harpooning. The Society wanted the chapel to be "a place of meeting for religious purposes, for those who are temporary residents in our town, and whose business it is to follow the sea."
Those ideas were too grandiose for Harry, but she did think the center aisle of the chapel was a right pretty place for a bride to walk down, on the way to start a new life. Or, if Joshua preferred, they might wed following the old custom, with Josh's captain performing the wedding onboard the Regina Marie. Harry knew Josh would want to wed her, now that he had taken her virginity. They just had a few wrinkles to iron out between them first, was all.
When the busy wharf came into clear sight, Harry's excitement rose in direct proportion to the hustle and bustle of the area, her heels then fairly skimming the uneven cobblestone streets. There, up ahead, was the moored Regina Marie!
And there was Josh on board, helping to weigh anchor.
Though her heart clutched and she feared she would die, so that Joshua wouldn't see her, Harry ducked behind a tower of unloaded crates while she sobbed. Too late now to tell him she was sorry, too late to tell him to keep safe for her, too late to extract the usual promise that he would return to her all in one piece. Much too late to tell him how much she loved him, and if he would only wait for her to grow up, she would make him a dutiful wife. Josh was leaving her, as she always feared he would, without even saying goodbye.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Seven years later...
While seeing to the breakfast dishes, Harry heard Lydia's plaintive wail. Tossing the drying cloth over a shoulder, she raced for the little one in the nursery.
"Have you forgotten about me this morning?" Beth bellowed from the adjoining door, as Harry rushed past.
"Forgotten?" Backing up, Harry peeked in at her peevish sister-in-law, who was situated in the middle of the newly-made bed, propped up against a snowy-white mountain of pillows, frilly nightcap in place over her recently shampooed head; all compliments of Harry's excellent memory and back-breaking labor. "Why ever do you ask?"
"Because I will take my tea now, and it has yet to arrive."
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