“What are you doing? Stop that.”
But before Olivia could resist, the door opened once more and Molly appeared in her grimy dress. Understanding immediately what was occurring, she drew from her garter a bowie knife and stuck it into Father Silverman’s belly.
The man tumbled forward like a fallen redwood, clutching the knife. He tried to call out for help but his voice came out low and gurgling. Still loud enough that he could be heard from the hallway, so Molly reached down and pulled out the bowie knife, and holding the man’s head by the hair she slit his throat from ear to ear, the blood gushing out and seeping into the floor.
Quickly they gathered their possessions and went outside, trying not to arise suspicion. Olivia was now fully dressed and from her waist hung the revolver again. A few of the residents of that house stopped the girls on the way out, asking them why they were leaving. Molly made up some story and the residents seemed satisfied until someone on the second floor let out a terrifying scream. Those detaining the girls went upstairs to see for themselves what had happened, leaving only one young man to watch over them.
“Stay right there,” he said. “Do you know what’s happened?”
“We must be going,” Molly said, but the young man reiterated that they should wait. When the girls ignored him and began walking out of the house, he grabbed Olivia by the arm and pulled her back. So Molly reached out and drew Olivia’s revolver and fired at the young man, the bullet hitting him square on the forehead, the red dot a holy inscription.
They found the pony tied to the side of the house and climbed on, riding forward with no care for the darkness ahead. It was some hours before they stopped by the side of the road and went to sleep for a few hours. Then they were riding again to a land filled with forested hills and there they dismounted and sunk to the ground, their backs to a tree. Confident no one was following them, they took a drink of water and slept.
In the morning, they ate and set out again. They rode past the hills and across vast fields of grass and passed a herd of cattle, their varied coats parading against the blue sky. Sometime past noon they came upon a shallow pond, the water clear as glass. And with their water skins refilled they had lunch and Molly borrowed Olivia’s revolver and looked it over and broke it apart, setting the pieces down in front of her. With a bit of her dress she wiped the pieces down, cleaning them, then put the gun back together, reloaded it and returned it.
“My father taught me how to use guns. You have to keep it clean or it could stall on you right when you need it most,” Molly said.
That very evening they came upon a grove of oak trees. Thousands of them grouped together. And beyond the trees they entered into the city of Oakland with its hunting camps alongside more elaborate lodgings and even a troop of Indians set up in teepees next to the bay, the mayor of that city having pledged to protect them. Just inside the city a platform rose up from the ground. A lone man hung from it, the head tilted unnaturally, flies circling the body. In Oakland, the girls found a general store and from it they bought clothes for Molly. She divested herself of her dress and instead donned breeches and a shirt like Olivia. Men’s clothes. And she tied her hair up and hid it inside a hat. Then they found a transport company next to the bay and paid the fare for the next ferry to San Francisco. They crossed the bay, pony and all, before dark.
Chapter Twelve
Men bearing rifles stood at the edge of the wharf, their faces clean and young. Even the richest men stopped when they passed one of the young militiamen and paid homage by tipping their hats. Men in top hats and smooth black coats commingled with others in dirty trousers carrying shovels and pickaxes and pulling behind them wheelbarrows filled with bricks. Olivia studied the horizon. On the way over she could think of nothing else but the sea. She had always wanted to see it and swim in it but now the desire had grown into a visceral hunger as if she were lacking something essential and only the brine of the Pacific could make her whole. Molly, on the other hand, fell into a somber mood as the ferry approached San Francisco.
“You’ve been here before?” Olivia asked.
Molly nodded.
“Do you know a place where we could see the ocean? Maybe put our feet in it?”
“It’s too late for that. Too dark. We can go tomorrow. I’m starving,” Molly said.
“Me too.”
“I know just the place we could go.”
The place was a quaint bakery. The last of that day’s doughnuts and pies could be seen through the store window. The smell of burnt sugar and hot fruit still lingered inside. The baker at the counter picked out two of the doughnuts and gave one to each girl. Olivia paid for them and they ate while they walked the street, pulling the pony behind them.
With each passing block the number of people walking the street diminished until the girls were all but alone.
“We need to find lodging for the night,” Olivia said.
“I know a place my father used to take me,” Molly said.
They came upon Pike Street and in the midst of all of the workshops and tanneries and mills they found a house. While Molly knocked on the door, Olivia sidled up to a window and pressed her face against it, trying to see inside, but the view was obstructed by curtains. A few moments later Olivia caught one of the curtains in the window parting and someone peeking out. Then the door opened. A tall Chinese woman in a florid dress stood before them holding a shotgun.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Lady Ah Toy?” Molly said.
The woman lowered her head towards Molly to get a better look at her and a moment later removed Molly’s hat, revealing her brilliant blond hair all bunched together.
“Molly? Is that you?”
“It is.”
“Come inside. I thought you were dead.”
They entered into a grand foyer. The space was much larger than it looked from outside, the vaulted ceiling windowed and translucent. Everywhere plush chairs and ottomans and divans sat empty, ornately carven, intricately painted, upholstered in rich velvet. Wondrous carpets and huge fur rugs covered parts of the checkered floor. To one side stood a full-sized piano, to the other the bar, imposing and dominant, a vast mirror covering the wall behind it and in front of the mirror a shelf with every kind of spirit and liquor imaginable. Past the foyer, Ah Toy led them through a long hallway. Then, passing through another door, the girls found themselves in a very ordinary kitchen.
“Would you like some tea? Milk?” Ah Toy asked.
“Yes, please. Both,” Olivia said.
Ah Toy filled a pot and placed it over the fire to boil. Then she took a seat at the table with the girls and looked long at Molly.
“Everyone said you were dead,” Ah Toy said. “You and your family.”
“I should be dead,” Molly said. “They had me in a jail cell. That awful old man. He had…things done to me…”
“No need to remember those things. How is it you remain alive?”
“Another man. Don’t know his name. He freed me and I fled the city.”
“How fortunate. But how did you survive all alone?”
Molly lowered her gaze in shame but Ah Toy touched her chin with a single finger and raised her gaze back up.
“There’s no shame in surviving. None at all.”
“I know.”
“Why do you come back, then? Why risk being found out?”
“I figured most people don’t know what I looked like. Besides, things weren’t working out too well out there.”
“You’re welcome to stay here for the night, Molly. You and your friend. But I cannot keep you for more than that. Times are tough for everybody. It’s not like the old days anymore. I only have one room open and I need the rent for it. Unless you girls would be open to working for it.”
With the tea brought to a boil, Ah Toy poured it into three cups and they all took their sips at the same time.
“That’s why I’m here,” Molly said. “I don’t expect a handout.”
> “And you, my pretty flower?”
Olivia did not know what to say.
“I can tell you’ve never done anything like this before. Then it is better that you watch for now and just help me man the bar in the meantime.”
With their cups empty, the three of them took a short staircase down into the basement. Only a few candles and Ah Toy’s lantern interrupted the oppressive dark. They walked down the long corridor, passing by many rooms. Most of the doors were closed, but one or two were left ajar. Curious, Olivia leaned into the open rooms to have a look. In one of them a girl stood naked in front of a mirror, powdering her face. In the other a girl sat on a bed, one arm outstretched and the other holding onto a thin brush, fresh red lacquer covering her nails.
Only the very last room at the end of the corridor was empty.
“You’ll have to share the bed, of course. Keep your candles near you. There are more inside one of those drawers. Bath’s upstairs.”
The room was furnished with a bed, a dresser, a nightstand and a vanity table all made out of sturdy unpainted wood. Olivia opened the dresser. Clothes hung inside smelling of laundry soap. Some of the pieces still bore the tags of one seamstress or another. Besides the exquisite lingerie, Olivia found party gowns of the highest quality with intricate embroideries of flowers and vines and singing birds. On the vanity table, she found a modest collection of jewelry inside a box. Two pairs of earrings and a necklace. Olivia held them up and thought they were made of real gold and encrusted with real diamonds.
“You can keep all of that. Belonged to a girl who is no longer with us,” Ah Toy said. “Perhaps you girls should rest tonight and start tomorrow.”
“No,” Molly said. “I can start now.”
“Alright. Pick something out and come up. We open in one hour.”
The bed creaked as Olivia climbed on and lay down, face up. Her svelte body sagged slightly into the soft mattress. Better than any of the beds she had slept in on the road but not quite as nice as the one in her parents’ house. Molly had the dresser open, filing through the pieces one by one. She picked three of them out and laid them down on the bed and then took her clothes off and tried the first gown on, glancing at herself through the mirror. Olivia imagined herself undressing in front of an unknown man and shuddered.
When she came up out of the basement, Olivia was in one of the dresses. A pink thing with white lace. The ill-fitting dress brushed the floor with each step, the lace around the ends graying with dust. A big platter of food rested on the kitchen table. Roast mutton with steamed potatoes and bread with butter and sizzling bacon and large pitchers of milk. Ah Toy stood at the counter stirring something.
“Eat up, now,” she said. “Can’t do good work on an empty belly.”
Olivia made her plate and while she ate the other girls trickled into the kitchen from the basement, some of them in ornate dresses and others already in their lingerie, their smooth skin exposed, the mutton disappearing into their gullets, talking loudly like a troupe of noisy hens. Olivia introduced herself over and over while finishing her meal. The girls came from all over the world. There were American girls but also Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, Indians and even one Russian and one Irish.
The kitchen overflowed with girls eating and talking. A few sat at the table but most of them stood with their plates up to their faces. A few of them took great interest in Olivia and Molly and asked them questions about where they had come from. When it was her turn to answer, Olivia made something up, not wanting even to think about her past. Molly did not answer at all.
Her appetite satisfied, Olivia wandered into the parlor. She found a seat for herself and tried to imitate the other girls. A musician had taken up his place at the piano, tapping the keys, the music melancholy and dreamlike. Then Ah Toy appeared with her hair brushed and her face painted and powdered, a silken dress clinging to her flesh and atop her head an ivory bowler hat adorned by a single yellow flower. Her gait was slow and uncertain, her feet bound tightly. Then Ah Toy took her place behind the bar, inspecting the glasses and buffing a few of them with a kerchief.
Molly sat opposite Olivia on a sofa with two other girls. All three were dressed in exquisite corsets and long stockings of black and red. One of the girls had on her lap an open humidor lined with thin little cigarillos. Molly examined each one closely, then picked one and placed it in her mouth. Taking a candle, she lit it, the smoke obscuring her face for a moment while she exhaled.
Having inspected the bar, Ah Toy darted back and forth, eyeing each girl, measuring them, and making sure the appointment books were open and ready for new marks.
Moments later the first knock on the door echoed in the parlor. A man entered with a lit cigar bobbing up and down in his mouth, a long brown coat covering him from neck to ankles. He took a seat at the bar and Ah Toy served him a frothing cup of ale and the man sat there drinking and smoking and paying no mind to the women around him. Then more men came. Young and old. Alone and in groups. And they found seats for themselves in the expansive parlor and lounged together drinking and the girls did the same in their own way and the two factions barely crossed each other as if they belonged to rival tribes. This went on until a younger man came in slurring his words, almost tripping on his way to the bar. After ordering whiskey, he whispered something in Ah Toy’s ear.
Soon after, the sound of a ringing bell pierced the night’s haze and the girls, hearing it, put down their cups and stood together in a line in the back of the parlor, Molly among them. Then the drunk young man walked with Ah Toy from one end of the line to the other, all the while looking over each girl from head to toe as if he were inspecting goods for sale. He stopped in front of Molly. The sharp smell of liquor hung around him like some familiar spirit and his leering eyes had a dullness to them that Olivia hated.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Molly.”
He breathed deeply. Then he turned to Ah Toy and said, “I want her.” The drunk young man staggered into one of the rooms behind the bar, Molly right behind him. They were together for mere minutes before Molly came right back out with her corset soiled by vomit.
Seeing this, Ah Toy filled a bucket with water and grabbed a pair of besoms.
“Olivia, come help me,” she said.
Together they wiped the floor, gathering the bile and piling it into the bucket. The whole room smelled of rancid apples. The man was passed out on the bed, but just as soon as Ah Toy had finished cleaning the floor, she fetched her shotgun and, rousing the young man, compelled him to leave through a back door.
The rest of the night went on without incident. At some point, Ah Toy told Olivia to stand behind the bar and wait on the men and she did. Olivia took the drink orders in stride, smiling often, and collecting generous tips from her customers. But several hours into the night, a man walked in whom everyone seemed to recognize and upon whom everyone’s attention fell. He carried a silver cane and behind him a larger gentleman shadowed his every move. He walked in slow, taking the time to look over the room and everyone in it. Instead of sitting in one of the plush chairs or sofas, this man took a seat at the bar. Olivia asked him what he would drink as she had done to all of the others, but he didn’t answer at first. The man, with his graying hair, looked behind, where the larger man stood on watch. The brute nodded to the older man, his employer by all accounts, and the man lifted his cane and laid it out on the bar.
“I’m not thirsty,” he said.
Olivia hesitated, not expecting that reply.
“You are pretty. What’s your name?”
“Olivia.”
“Such a poetic name. It even has an interjection built right in. Oh Livia.”
“Would you like something to drink, sir?”
“You already asked me that.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
The man stared at Olivia, making her uncomfortable. She, in turn, glanced at Ah Toy in a plea for help. But Ah Toy was busy attending to another customer a
nd hadn’t yet noticed the man’s interest in Olivia.
“My name’s Bill. That one over there is called Elton.” Bill pointed at his servant.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink, sir?”
“I don’t like repeating myself, Olivia.” Bill snarled for a moment and Olivia was reminded of a rabid dog. He reached out and held her hands with his own. Olivia’s nervousness grew.
“How long have you worked here?” he said.
“I started today.”
Her hands moistened while he held them. Bill felt her sweaty palms, encouragement evident on his face and in his manner. He was affecting her and his grip on her hands tightened.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Very much so.”
Olivia tried to wiggle free but couldn’t find the energy to do much more than shift the position of her hands in his. Her nervousness had grown until all she felt was terror. It took all of her nerve to speak against the man.
“I’m not a working girl. I’m just the bartender.”
“I’m sure you aren’t. To them,” Bill said, motioning with his head towards the other men in the house. “To me, you’re whatever I want you to be.”
Finally, Ah Toy saw the situation Olivia found herself in. She approached the bar and asked politely what the problem was.
“Problem? There’s no problem. Is there a problem, Elton?” Bill asked.
“None whatsoever, sir.”
“Olivia here isn’t available for entertainment, Mr. Barnwell,” Ah Toy said.
“She is entertaining me. And I feel like taking her to the back and making a woman out of her. Perhaps even let Elton here have a taste after I’m done.”
“That would be swell, sir,” Elton said.
Olivia bowed her head in shame at the thought. She could no longer bear to look at the man in front of her, and she tried to free herself from his grasp and finally managed to. Tears wet her face and dripped down over her lips.
“Mr. Barnwell, she’s only a girl. She’s never done anything like this. Could you not spare her?”
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