Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) (18 page)

Hiram peered over her shoulder, took one look, and pulled her back from the door. “I knew it,” he muttered. “Sarah, don’t look.”

She didn’t argue. “What is this place?”

“We’re in a brothel, a bordello, a house of ill repute, whatever you want to call it.”

A brothel?
Goose flesh rippled up her back. She wanted to turn and run, but would do no such thing. “But what is Florrie doing here?”

Before he could answer, a large, florid-faced woman somewhere in her fifties appeared. She looked as if she was going to a fancy ball, her white hair swept into an elaborate coiffure, her black velvet gown embroidered with glittering spangles. She gave them a tight-lipped smile. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Northcutt, and you are?”

Sarah introduced herself and Hiram. “Florrie is our sister. We want to see her.” Why had this feeling of foreboding crept over her? She’d found Florrie, and that was wonderful, but who was this unfriendly woman, and what was going on?

“You want to see Florrie? Very well, I’ll find out if she wants to see you.” Mrs. Northcutt leveled a hostile gaze. “But I warn you, she may not. In which case, I shall ask you to leave.” Shoulders rigid with displeasure, she disappeared up the staircase.

Wordlessly, they waited in the hallway. Sarah couldn’t think what to say and neither could Hiram. Long minutes went by—five, ten—Sarah wasn’t sure. Twice someone knocked on the front door. Twice the maid let in a gentleman who headed straight to the parlor. At last Mrs. Northcutt came down the staircase, a frown on her face. “She says she’ll see you. Go up the stairs, two doors to the right. Don’t take too long. We’re going to be busy tonight.”

Sarah mounted the staircase, Hiram close behind. She ought to be thrilled and excited. Instead, she couldn’t shake the numb feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was wrong. At the second door to the right, they stopped and looked at each other. “I don’t know what to expect,” she whispered.

“That makes two of us. Here goes.” Hiram knocked sharply.

“Come in!”

Florrie’s voice
. Hiram swung open the door. They stepped into a large, lavishly furnished bedroom that smelled of heavy jasmine perfume. Florrie stood in the center of the room dressed in a long, beautiful blue satin gown, hair flowing down her back. “Sarah, Hiram!” Before they could say a word, she flung herself into their arms, face wet with tears. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

For Sarah, the first few minutes passed in a blur. Amid her tears, Florrie couldn’t stop talking. She had missed them terribly, Ma and Pa, too. She’d feared she would never see them again, and how had they ever found her? Sarah had to wipe away her own tears. With Hiram’s help, she described their heartbreaking search, and how an old miner named Ethan Cartwright gave them the clue that helped find her. When the first wild exhilaration of their reunion began to wane, Florrie rang for a maid and ordered tea. Now the three sat at a small, round table with a velvet, red-tasseled cloth, sipping from teacups of delicate china that must have been very expensive indeed.

In all the excitement, Sarah hadn’t looked closely at her sister. Now, as she gazed at Florrie, she had to conceal her surprise. The old, thick-waisted Florrie with the pudgy figure was gone. Her fancy blue dress defined her now-slender waist and hips while its low-cut neckline revealed far more bosom than Ma would have approved. Her hair was different. The old Florrie never bothered much to fix it, just gathered it in a bun with no style at all. Now it cascaded in lovely dark waves down her back with little curls framing her face that…
Oh, my God
.
Florrie’s wearing makeup
. Those rosy cheeks couldn’t be natural. They had to be rouged. Those crimson lips couldn’t be natural, either. Ma would faint if she discovered a daughter of hers using makeup like some brazen hussy. And yet, Florrie looked so much better than Sarah had ever seen her. Not only her face and figure had improved, so had her attitude. No more slumping shoulders. Head high, shoulders back, she brimmed with a confidence she’d never had before. She still wasn’t beautiful and never would be, but the improvement was remarkable.

They spoke only in excited generalities until Hiram asked, “What happened, Florrie? Why did you disappear? Why did that Indian have your necklace? We got it back, you know.”

“You have my necklace? That’s wonderful. I’ll tell you what happened.” Florrie gazed toward the ceiling and sighed, as if she was dredging up bad memories. “It was the Indians who kidnapped me. That day, I’d gone for a walk in the woods. I’d gone farther than I thought when here came some Indians riding toward me. I tried to run, but it was too late. They grabbed me, bound my hands together, and made me ride behind one of them on his horse. I fought as best I could. I screamed and screamed but nobody heard. They were horribly rough. We rode for days—you can imagine how frightened I was—until finally one night I was able to escape. I was found by a man named Hannibal Palmer. You’ve heard of him? He owns this house and many others. He’s the one who brought me here to Hangtown. At first I was staying at the Gold Star Hotel. That’s where the old miner probably saw me. After a short time, I moved here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

Hiram leveled a piercing gaze at his sister. “Florrie, this is a whorehouse.”

She thrust out her chin. “I know that. I work here.”

Sarah gasped. “You’re admitting you work here as a…a…?”

“Sister of joy? Lady of the night?
Prostitute?
Yes, I admit it.” Florrie shifted her gaze away from direct contact with their eyes. “I had no choice. They forced me into it.”

Despite her shock, Sarah searched for words of comfort. She took her sister’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We’re here now, Florrie.” Never had she spoken more from her heart than at this moment. “Thank God, we found you. I’m horrified at what you’ve had to endure, but you’re safe now.”

Hiram leaped to his feet. “Get your things. We’re getting out of here, and that Mrs. Northcutt—she’s the madam, isn’t she?—had better not try to stop us.”

Florrie remained seated. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked. “You don’t have to worry about Ma and Pa. They’ll never know you worked in this awful place. Nobody will know. We’ll make up a story. Maybe you didn’t escape the Indians until just today. Maybe you got hit on the head and lost your memory. Maybe—”

“Stop.” Florrie held up a restraining hand. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?”

Florrie heaved a resigned sigh. “What you don’t understand is I don’t want to go home. I like it here. I like doing what I do.”

Sarah looked at Hiram. His mouth hung open in amazement. She stared at her sister until she could find words. “I can’t believe this. Did I hear you right?”

“Yes, you did.” Florrie flung her head back, a gesture of defiance Sarah well remembered from the old days when her stubborn sister insisted on having her way. “All my life I was the ugly sister.” Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Florrie continued on. “Don’t argue, it’s true. I lived in your shadow, Sarah. You were the one with the pretty face and figure. You were the one with all the beaux. I was the ugly one nobody paid any attention to. You think I didn’t care?” Florrie arose from her chair, walked to the center of the room, and spread her arms. “That’s all behind me now. Look at me!” She performed a pirouette, her satin skirt swirling about her in graceful folds. “I’m beautiful now. They give me stylish clothes. A maid does my hair. And yes, Sarah, I saw that look you gave me. I wear makeup now, and love it. Everyone loves me here. I dine on gourmet meals, drink the most expensive champagne. My steady customers are all fine gentlemen who pay a lot of money for the pleasure of my company.”

“Oh, Florrie.” Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth. She could think of nothing to say.

Hiram stared at his sister. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You mean you actually like working in a brothel?”

Florrie flopped her hands out. “I’m here, aren’t I? I will doubtless go straight to hell for saying the forbidden word, but I also enjoy the sex.” She broke into a wicked little grin. “I’ve shocked you. Sorry, that’s just the way it is.” She came back to the table and sat down, her expression suddenly somber. “I know how you feel, and I’m sorry that you’ve come all this way for nothing. I’m sorry about Ma and Pa, too. You’ll have to tell them—” Her voice caught, but she quickly went on, “But this is my life now. Please be happy for me. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Up to this moment, Sarah had blocked the truth from her mind. Now, as Florrie’s words sunk in, a tide of anger swept through her. No getting around it, her sister had become a prostitute, had sunk to the lowest level a woman could sink, and that was an undeniable fact. She got up from the table. “You want me to be happy that my one and only sister works in a brothel? Her voice was shaking. She didn’t care. “You have broken my heart, Florrie Bryan, and Ma and Pa’s, too.” She looked at Hiram. “I’m done. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They found a sprawling campground not far from town where round tents, square tents, plank hovels, and primitive log cabins dotted the wooded area in haphazard fashion. Their minds still benumbed by their encounter with Florrie, they hardly spoke. Hiram parked the wagon, fed the oxen, and pitched the tent. Sarah built a campfire, went for water, and cooked their dinner. Not until they had nearly finished eating did they touch upon the subject hanging over them like a black cloud.

Hiram took a bite of beans and slowly shook his head. “My sister’s a whore. I’m saying the words, but I still can’t believe it.”

Sarah put her fork down. “I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach by a mule. What’ll we tell Ma and Pa?”

“That’s simple. We’ll just say we couldn’t find her.” Hiram peered at her quizzically. “Do you believe Florrie’s story?”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember those lies Florrie used to tell when she was little? I could always tell, and I still can. That story she told about getting kidnapped by the Indians is hogwash.”

Sarah had been so shocked by her sister’s announcement, she’d given it no further thought. “Now that I think about it…yes, I suspect she was lying.”

Hiram cocked an eyebrow. “She’s kidnapped by Indians and somehow escapes? Sounds fishy. It’s like Florrie to lie because she’s covering up something.”

“But what? At this point why should we care?”

“You’re right, why should we? We should be getting home. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Of course they should go home. Florrie was a lost cause. No point in staying, yet Hiram’s remarks had set her to thinking. If Florrie was lying, and she probably was, then she was hiding something. And if she was hiding something, Sarah wanted to know what it was. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

“Why not? What’s left for us here? Florrie’s not going to change her mind.”

“The more I think about it, the more I’m realizing Florrie was lying. At the very least, I suspect she left a lot out. We need to find out the truth, if for no other reason than Ma and Pa deserve to know.”

Hiram eyed her suspiciously. “Jack McCoy’s in Hangtown. Is that why—?”

“Absolutely not. I hardly think of him anymore.” Not true. She thought of Jack all the time, but Hiram needed to know her main reason for wanting to stay was Florrie. “There’s something she’s not telling. I’m going back to that…that
plac
e tomorrow. I’ll talk to her again. You don’t have to go. More likely she’ll open up if it’s just me.”

“Fine with me.” Hiram gave her the good-natured smile that always touched her heart. “But are you sure you want to go alone? It’s a brothel, after all.”

“I’ve been there once, and I can do it again. Don’t worry.” Poor Hiram, always so concerned, so helpful. He deserved something special, and she’d just thought what it would be. “Guess what I’m going to do tomorrow. I’m going to bake you an apple pie.”

Hiram beamed. “Do you think you can find any apples in this town?”

“Real apples or dried apples, you’re going to have your pie, my dear brother.” Her spirits lifted, not by much, but at least she’d gone a bit beyond the shock and gloom of this terrible day. Tomorrow she’d see Florrie again and maybe, just maybe, come up with the truth. What it was, she didn’t know, but how could it be worse than what she already knew?

The next morning, Sarah walked into town to shop at the general store. She would wait until afternoon to visit Florrie. As Hiram pointed out, they worked late at such places, and Florrie would still be sleeping. Bright sunshine and crisp mountain air with its hint of pine trees made this a perfect day, but she couldn’t enjoy it. The full impact of her sister’s fall from grace was still sinking in.
My sister is a prostitute
.
How
a
wful. How unthinkable
. The general store was just ahead. She must concentrate on her grocery list and—

“Sarah?”

Jack’s voice came from behind her. She froze in her tracks. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes as painful memories flooded her mind: his last words,
I’ve enjoyed knowing you and all your family,
so cold, so impersonal; those nights when she couldn’t sleep for thinking of the times she’d been in his arms making a complete fool of herself; those endless days after they reached Mokelumne City when she waited for a letter that never came.

She turned to face him. There he stood in that same easy, self-assured pose, his casual smile telling her how much he didn’t care, how much he’d never cared, and how stupid she’d been to have believed he ever would. She tipped her head, pasted a smile of nonchalance on her face. “Why, Jack McCoy! How lovely to see you again.” She let sarcasm drip from her voice.

He drew in a shaking breath. “Sarah, my God, I… What are you doing here?”

“How could you possibly care?”

“Of course I care. I—”

“Don’t bother.” She made no attempt to hide the bristling anger in her voice. “Sorry, I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk.”

She started away, but he took her arm. “Sarah, listen, you don’t understand.”

She jerked her arm away. “I understand perfectly, Mr. McCoy, and I want you to understand I want nothing more to do with you, not now, not ever. Is that clear?”