Lilly: Bride of Illinois (American Mail-Order Bride 21) (3 page)

“Miss Lind,” Mr. Hardesty gestured to the man on the stage, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Boswell, who will play the piano and listen to your voice. Please face him in front of the music stand and sing the song from the music sheets.” He paused before asking, “I assume you can read English music?”

“
Yes,
I can. Hello, Mr. Boswell. I’m afraid my voice is not in the best shape due to my week of traveling to Chicago.” The middle–aged man looked more like a vagabond than a music director, but apparently he could play the piano.

“That’s all right. I can still hear if you have good pitch, Miss Lind,” Mr. Boswell said as he played the song on the piano, apparently so she could listen to the tune. “Start in when I nod to you.”

Lilly struggled to sing and follow along with the tempo the pianist played. Luckily she had heard the song before so she wasn’t totally lost reading the music.

“Not bad—considering she’s an immigrant,” Mr. Hardesty said to Mr. Boswell, causing Lilly’s temper to rise because they were judging her status,
and
they were talking as if she wasn’t standing right there in front of them.

“Let’s hear you sing an American song a cappella. Do you know what that means?” Mr. Boswell asked.

“Yes, it means to sing without being accompanied by an instrument,” Lilly answered, trying not to snap back at him.
What American song do I know by heart which I can impress them with?

Lilly stood straight, lowered her shoulders and started clearly singing, “Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”

After she hit the highest note right on pitch and finished the song, both gentlemen stood and clapped. “Very nice, Miss Lind, even if you are tired today.”

The men sat down, looking at each other in thought, until Mr. Hardesty said, “The Swedish Nightingale’s last name was also Lind, correct? It’s been a few decades since Jenny Lind came to America and gave a lot of large–scale concerts for P. T. Barnum.” He twisted his mouth in thought. “You aren’t by chance a relative of hers, Miss Lind? Perhaps a cousin, or her niece?”

“No, sir, I’m sure we are not related.”

“Oh, that’s right. You immigrants usually change your name when you come over here. What is your Swedish name?” Mr. Hardesty raised his eyebrows questioning her.

“Lilly Lind.”
For some reason she didn’t feel safe telling him her original name.

He nodded his head in deference to her refusal to say anything else. “Mr. Boswell, we’ll talk about this later. Miss Lind, I’m sure you’re very hungry. Let’s you and me adjourn to my office for an early dinner before the evening crowd arrives. After we eat you can go back up to your room. I’m sure you’ll look forward to a long restful sleep in a real bed tonight.”

Lilly took his extended hand, but hesitated when he said they would dine alone. But then, if they were going to become man and wife, this was their opportunity to get to know each other. But she didn’t like the idea of working in a saloon. What would her friends from the textile mill say about this? Hope had cautioned her about not knowing enough about the man and his business, but the matchmaking agency had checked him out and assured her he was a proper candidate for a husband.

I hope my friends are in a better situation than I find myself in here in Chicago…

Chapter 2

It was late afternoon when Seth checked into the five–story, brick hotel where he was staying. It was a mile walk to the hotel in the blustery cold wind, and the closer he was to the yards nearby, the noisier and smellier the atmosphere became. The sound of thousands of animals in the yard pens was constant and almost deafening at times.

He was accustomed to smelling cattle manure, growing up near Ellsworth, Kansas, which had been the ending point of the cattle trail drives in the 1870s. When the herds arrived early summer through late fall, they grazed in the area until they were loaded on train cars for their journey back east. There’d been tens of thousands of longhorns, along with the dust, manure and flies they brought with them. But this manure was contained in the yard pens and concentrated—and with the addition of hogs—it made his eyes water and burn.

The American Horse Show was being held in the Exposition Building from November first through the eighth. Then the American Fat Stock Show, another week’s event starting a few days after the first show. Seth had coordinated his trip to visit the last two days of the horse show, have a few days to view stock in the stockyards, then attend the first days of the Fat Stock Show. There was a weekly horse auction in the stockyards, and he planned to buy some breeding stock at the sale, and take them back to Kansas in a livestock railcar.

Seth was the horse breeder for the Straight Arrow Ranch, part of the Cross C Company in Ellsworth County, Kansas. Besides raising stock horses for ranch hand use, the ranch raised and sold top of the line Morgan stallions and mares.

Isaac Connely had started the Cross C Ranch after the Civil War, using Texas longhorns for his first herd. Over time he, along with his nephew, Marcus Brenner, who took over the daily management of the ranch, crossed the longhorns with Hereford bulls. They acquired more land, now making it one of the largest ranch companies in the area with over thirty thousand acres.

The breeding horse operation, averaging a herd of around two hundred head, was on a smaller, connecting ranch, which the owners had bought.

The ranch was still called Straight Arrow, or shortened to the Arrow, named by the first owners of the land. Seth lived in the original two–story, wooden ranch house. From spring through fall, he had extra help who lived in the ranch’s bunkhouse. From November through March he was the only one watching the horse herd in the pastures, but hired help if he needed it, such as when it was necessary for him to be gone on this weeklong trip.

The Straight Arrow was five miles straight north of Clear Creek, the closest town, but Seth liked the isolation—most of the time. Now at age twenty–eight, he found himself wishing he was sharing his home and life with a wife and family.

Now Seth sat at a table in the hotel’s restaurant enjoying a rare beef steak, mashed potatoes and the company of men he just met. The men, who were also here to attend the shows, ranged from young to old, experienced or novices, exhibitors or buyers. The people came all the way from Canada to Texas, bringing different expertise from their area’s land and climate, and livestock they raised.

Conversation jumped from today’s blustery weather, mishaps people suffered traveling to Chicago, to who they thought would win the cart horse, or jumping class at the ongoing horse show.

“Plan to check out the saloons in the area?” a young man who sat across the table, asked Seth.

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” Seth put off giving a direct answer, because Seth didn’t go into drinking establishments.

“I went to the Stockyard Emporium the other night and plan to go again in a few days. They had some good–lookin’ women singing in the saloon...and doing other things for men upstairs if you know what I mean,” he grinned while wiggling his eyebrows. “I heard they’re gettin’ a new singer from back East this week, so I don’t want to miss her act.”

The Stockyard Emporium?
Where had he heard that name before? It was at the depot when he overheard the man and woman talking. The Swedish woman, a Miss Lind, was being taken there, and at the time he wondered what she was getting into.
Was she the new singing act?
Seth thought he understood she was a mail–order bride, planning to meet her future husband.

“Yes, I’d like to go with you,” Seth said to the man. His parents wouldn’t approve of him stepping into a saloon, let alone drinking a beer. But Seth was a grown man and curious enough about Miss Lind’s welfare to venture inside the “swinging doors” so to speak.

***

Lilly only got a glimpse of her “fiancé” over the next two days. He was always “too busy right now” to talk to her. Lilly needed clothes because other than the dress she wore on her trip to Chicago, she only had extra under garments and a few other pieces of clothing in her bag. Mrs. Mason said she’d mention it to Mr. Hardesty, but nothing materialized after the conversation—if it ever took place.

The only time Lilly was permitted out of her room was in the mornings when Mr. Boswell worked with her on songs she was to sing during her debut performance. She still couldn’t get through one song without blushing, thinking about the “randy” lyrics she was to sing—out loud for heaven’s sakes.

During the second day, Lilly stepped out in the hall when she heard other women, but they went into their rooms as soon as she opened her door. Lilly went knocking on doors to talk to someone, but the women never answered.

Since Lilly had tried to talk to someone else, Mrs. Mason kept Lilly sequestered to her room, bringing in meals, and taking out her dirty wash water and chamber pot as needed. If Lilly hadn’t slept so much because of her exhaustion, she would have gone stark crazy.

The one small, dirty window in the room looked out to the back alley, but after watching dogs chasing giant rats—and drunk men vomiting and then passing out in their mess—she didn’t look out the window after the first day.

Of course, she could only sleep during the day. The rowdy noises coming from downstairs from early evening to early morning kept her wide awake. Plus, more than once during the night, someone turned her doorknob, trying to enter her room. She angled the only chair in the room under the knob to block anyone from entering, but wasn’t sure if it would hold against a hard shove.

Lilly soon figured out what men—and women—were coming upstairs to do. She nearly fainted when she heard what was going on in the room next to hers. The walls were paper thin, and even with sticking her fingers in her ears, she’d heard an “anatomy lesson” she’d never forget.

Lilly dissolved into tears twice, but hadn’t given in to panic yet. Surely, Mr. Hardesty had a nice home in a good neighborhood where she could live and have a normal life with friends, shopping and attending church and functions, even if her husband was gone “working” most evenings.

She had no money for food or shelter if she could leave. And where would she go? Her best idea so far—and the only one—was to find a church and ask for help, wherever one might be. It was clear on their carriage ride over here that the Emporium was in a rough part of town, and it was very near the stockyards.

Now it was her third night here and there was a knock on her door. Beside Mrs. Mason was one of the girls she had seen in the hall earlier in the day. She was shorter than Lilly, with black hair and a gaudily made–up face. Lilly was embarrassed to look at the woman because of all the cleavage showing in her low–cut, dark pink dress.

“I’ll handle her, Mrs. Mason. Go tell Mr. Hardesty she’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” The woman pushed Lilly back into her room and shut the door, holding a finger up to her mouth to signal to be quiet. After five seconds she yanked the door open, and Lilly saw Mrs. Mason was standing there, looking caught and uneasy.

“I said I’d get her ready,” the woman raised her voice, and leaned against the doorframe until Mrs. Mason reluctantly moved down the hall.

“Keep quiet while I talk to you and we get you ready for your first night. I’m Fannie, but don’t talk to me when you see me elsewhere. Understood?”

Lilly looked at Fannie and realized she was serious. “First take off your dress so we can get this corset on you. Whether you like it or not, you need to show your assets tonight, then I’ll apply your makeup.”

“
No!
Then I’ll look like a ‘painted lady’!”

“Honey, whether you like it or not, that’s what you
are
now,” Fannie said as she helped Lilly undress.

“I came here as a mail–order bride for Mr. Hardesty! The matchmaker agency checks the references of all the men who put an ad in the
Grooms’ Gazette
. I corresponded with Miss Miller, and she said Mr. Hardesty was an upstanding businessman in the shipping industry.”

“
A
‘Mr. Hardesty’ and his business may have been checked out, but it was someone else Mr. Hardesty paid to represent him. I’m guessing he has several ads in that paper under different names. One or two women show up each month thinking they will be Mrs. Whoever.”

“That can’t be legal!”
Lilly whispered, then grunted when Fannie yanked on the corset strings. “Why don’t the police do something about his scams?!”

“Cops get paid ‘on the side’ for taking care of Mr. Hardesty’s business. Suck in your stomach again for one last pull of the strings.”

Lilly looked down at her chest.
Oh. My. Word
…besides not being able to breathe,
I’m exposing my breasts to the world
!

“Sit down on the chair so I can fix your face. You need kohl around your eyes and rouge on your cheeks and lips.

“Listen closely because I’ll only say this once, and we’ll never talk about it again. If you want to survive, I suggest you do what Mr. Hardesty says.”

“I’ll take my pay for tonight and leave. Mr. Hardesty tricked me so I
won’t
stay here. I’ll find a church and ask for help.”

“You aren’t paid
to sing
, Lilly. You’ll only get a small cut of the fee the men pay Mr. Hardesty for your female services
upstairs
, after you’ve been here a month or two to prove your loyalty to the Emporium.”

“
I will NOT be
a prostitute
!”

Fannie paused before saying, “The last ‘mail–order bride’ disappeared the same night she refused to take a man upstairs. Two days later her beaten body was found floating in Bubbly Creek. That nearby stream is the ‘dump’ for the slaughter houses in the Yards. I hope she was dead before being thrown into the stinking goo of dead animal parts.” Fannie gave a little shudder as she spoke about the animal offal.

“I…I can’t do this!
What should I do?!”

“Get through your songs, then look around and find the safest man you see. Go sit on his lap, put your arms around his neck, talk to him—and look like you’re enjoying yourself—or you’ll be the next ‘bride’ floating in the creek.”

Fannie went to the door and opened it. Lilly wasn’t surprised to see the woman standing outside.
Did she hear us talking?
Fannie didn’t say another word before she slipped past Mrs. Mason and walked down the hall to her own room.

Mrs. Mason practically dragged her out of her room and handed her over to Mr. Hardesty at the top of the main room stairway. Lilly wished she could have covered her chest, but her white shawl had
conveniently
disappeared from her room when she was downstairs practicing with Mr. Boswell this morning.

“Gentlemen! May I please have your attention?” Mr. Hardesty yelled while holding Lilly’s elbow firmly in his right hand. “I’d like to introduce you to our newest singer, Miss Lilly Lind—the niece of the
famous singer, Jenny Lind
—known throughout the world as the Swedish Nightingale!”

Lilly gasped and looked at Mr. Hardesty after his introduction and outright lie. “Smile and wave at your audience, Miss Lind,” he whispered in her ear as he practically dragged her down the steps and through the tables toward the stage. Men were clapping, stomping their feet, whistling and
touching her
as Mr. Hardesty pushed her up on the stage! “I suggest you do a good job singing your songs,” he whispered again while painfully squeezing her elbow before releasing it.

Lilly stared out at the audience, but couldn’t see the noisy crowd in the smoky room because her vision was starting to narrow. The room was warm, smelling of dirty men, whiskey, and the strong odor of the nearby plants. The smoke also brought flashbacks of the mill fire, causing a panic of its own.
Am I going to pass out, fling my meager supper on the stage floor, or both?

Mr. Boswell hit three loud cords, trying to get her attention. Had he already started playing the first song, and
what is it!?
He started in again, waited a few measures, and then started again, only louder this time. The third time Lilly shut her eyes and sang the first phrase of the song. She continued, singing a little louder, when the noise from the crowd dropped to only a few raunchy yells.

She got through the first song and opened her stinging eyes, embarrassed at the men’s hoots and hollers. After a few long minutes of standing there, coughing because of the cigar smoke and not knowing what to do next, Mr. Boswell started playing the introduction to the next song.