Much Ado About Madams (5 page)

She bounced to her feet and smiled. “I
can
help these women!” She opened the trunk containing school supplies and proceeded to establish a lesson plan—a plan that could free these prostitutes from bondage. A plan that would be used to reform soiled doves all over the country. Yes, the suffragists would understand.

She had a cause!

* * * * *

Reese escaped from the ladies’ tittering to give Buster a good brushing.

“
Over here, Reese,” Gus hollered. “Help me out a minute.”

“
Looks like you’ve made some progress for all that noise you’re making.” Reese headed to the side of the Comfort Palace to what would be his new bedroom. “Whatcha need?”

“
I don’t figure my hammering will bother the whores much, what with you bringing them a whole trunk full of pretties.” Gus pointed to a pile of planks. “It’ll go a lot faster if you hold these while I nail ‘em to the studs.”

“
Buster won’t mind waiting, I suppose.” He hefted one plank to the wall frame. “When do you think you’ll have my room done?”

“
Depends on what you call done.” He loaded his mouth with six-penny nails and pounded one in each top corner of the plank. “You can let go, now.” He hammered nails to the middle and bottom of each side.

“
Walled in and the roof on is what I call done—enough so I can throw my bedroll on the floor and sleep without smelling horse biscuits.”

“
Aw, probably a few days yet, depending on supplies.” Gus bit off a chew of tobacco and sat on a stump. “Need nails unless I can find some more, else I’ll run out in about an hour or so. You got any stashed somewhere?”

“
Nope.” Reese estimated the coverage in the board pile. “At least we have plenty of lumber.”

“
Yep, but not enough to build this room and the bunkhouse out at the ranch, too.”

“
Some ranch. I have land, but only a few cows, no well, and no buildings. I’d hoped to have the damned thing running by now, but it’ll just have to wait until next spring.”

“
The twins are faunching at the bit to get going. Don’t think they like being whorehouse bouncers. I told ‘em it wasn’t much different than herding cows, but they didn’t see the humor in it.”

Reese chuckled. “I don’t suppose they would. They like being around the ladies just fine, but they get restless. I expect they’re ready for a good fight about now.”

“
I expect so.”

“
So what other supplies do you need?”

“
Some hinges and a couple latches, too.” Gus spat. “Don’t know why you can’t sleep in your daddy’s room and tell Fannie to move.”

“
First thing I learned when I found out my dear daddy’s hotel was a whorehouse was that you don’t tell Fannie much of anything.”

“
That’s ‘cause she ain’t scared so much. All the ladies are looking a lot better these days—dressed nicer, and you even see a smile now and again.”

Reese scuffed the dirt with the heel of his dirt. “You know very well I don’t want this whorehouse or anything to do with it. I just wish there was someplace safe for the ladies to go, but there isn’t. Wanna buy it?”

Gus snorted. “That’s all I need—buy myself a whole houseful of trouble. Got enough as it is.” He nodded at Reese to help him pick up another board. “Speaking of trouble, what you think of that pretty little thing that came in on the stagecoach?”

“
She’s easy on the eyes even with those prudish clothes, but she won’t be here long. Seems like she got off here by mistake, and I expect she’ll be on the next stage outta here. This is sure as hell no place for a woman like her.”

“
Fanny said she threw you outta bed.”

“
Pitched a hissy, more like it.” He regretted scaring the poor woman half to death, when all he wanted was a little shut-eye. “Finally got Fannie to tell me her name—Miss Lucinda Sharpe. Perfect name for a schoolmarm.”

“
Might make a good wife.”

“
If she came to Idaho Territory looking for a husband, I’m sure she’ll find one in a hurry.” A man would be lucky to get a fiery, pretty woman like that to sleep with every night. Too bad he was born unlucky.

* * * * *

Lucinda walked into the office-turned-schoolroom feeling a little mercenary. She had used a social cause to assuage her conscience, but she’d never have consented if she hadn’t been in desperate need of money. The ladies would get her best effort, though. Today, they’d learn to write their names.

Holly looked like the schoolgirl she should have been, but the rest of the ladies could never be mistaken for ordinary students. Dressed in their finery, the prostitutes all looked respectable other than their garish hair colors and makeup. Sadie had removed her apron, but a splotch of flour decorated her cheek.

Holly smiled.

Trinket glowered.

Felicia sneered.

Petunia cowered.

Chrissy studied the ceiling.

Sadie rested her floury cheek on her right palm.

Fannie raised her left eyebrow.

Lucinda knew it was time to show her mettle, and for the first time, she didn’t quite know what to do. No one needed to know that, though. She relaxed her throat, hoping her first words as a teacher came across with authority. She breathed in.

A loud noise, definitely gastro-intestinal in nature, rumbled through the room.

Petunia dashed to the window and fanned the curtains to draw air. Holly sprang to the door and opened it wide. Sadie, Felicia, Chrissy, and Fannie hurried to the back of the room. Only the offender, Trinket, stayed seated.

“
Lordy, woman! Your smell could knock a maggot off a three-day-old carcass.” The ladies giggled at Fannie’s remark.

Lucinda’s eyes watered. She tugged the scented hankie from her sleeve and daintily covered her nose. “Ladies, please be seated.”

She changed her lesson plan.

“
Today, we will learn about deportment.”

Chapter 3

Lucinda surveyed the blank looks on the faces of the seven ladies seated before her. “Deportment is the accepted behavior appropriate to ladies in a business atmosphere.”

“
Hell, we already know that,” commented Trinket. “We’re all in business.” The ladies tittered.

“
I’m speaking of a respectable profession, such as teaching, maybe dressmaking, or even owning a boarding house.”

Trinket crossed her arms and huffed. “I’d druther stay here than be locked in a room full of brats or empty chamber pots for some lunger who’s gonna die anyway.”

“
Shhhhh!” six voices hissed at her.

Lucinda chose to ignore the remark. She’d inspire Trinket to change her mind soon enough. “We’ll start with sitting. A lady sits with her back straight, and her chin up.” Chairs scraped as the women all changed positions.

“
Very good,” she acknowledged as she looked around the room at seven straight backs and seven jutted chins. She also saw seven pairs of legs splayed and seven pairs of feet planted on either side of their chairs like a bunch of giant crickets. “Ahem.” She paused to make sure she had their attention. “A lady also keeps her appendages together. Lucinda waited, but none of the ladies moved a muscle.

“
What’s
appendages
?” asked Chrissy.

“
Your, er, ankles and knees. You must always keep your ankles and knees together while sitting.”

The women shifted positions again.

“
Damn, I feel like I’m gonna fall of this flimsy chair,” grumbled Chrissy. The rest of the class nodded in agreement.

“
You’ll get used to it, although it may be a little uncomfortable at first.” Lucinda remembered the aching leg muscles she endured the first few months she’d spent at Miss Hattie’s School for the Refinement of Young Ladies. “For now, you’ll only have to sit properly during deportment lessons. Later, when you’re more accustomed to this posture, you’ll be expected to maintain your lady-like seating during the reading and writing lessons, too.”

She smiled at them. “You all look very nice. If you have any questions, please raise your hand and I’ll answer them.” Seven bodies sat ramrod straight, knees together. Five faces looked at her expectantly. Trinket still glowered. Felicia yawned.

Lucinda decided to ignore Felicia’s gaping yawn. “We’ll learn how to divert our bodily functions tomorrow.” She picked up the pile of slates on her desk. “I’ll hand each of you a slate and chalk. Your first name is printed on the top half. Your task is to copy it.” She gave each woman her respective slate.

Fannie carefully copied her name.

Chrissy gripped the chalk, clenched her tongue between her lips, and set to work.

Holly squealed—actually it sounded more like a squawk—with delight, and copied the letters in her name twice.

Petunia drew her letters slowly.

Felicia delayed until the most of the other women were nearly done, then wrote her name with a beautiful script.

Trinket frowned, her slate empty.

“
Let me help you,” Lucinda offered.

“
I don’t wanna write this name.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because I want a different name. Cultured ladies ain’t named such stupid names.”

Lucinda agreed it was a horrible nickname, so she asked, “What’s your real name?”

“
Trinket. I said I want a
new
name, not the name some broke down whore gave her baby.”

Lucinda began to think Trinket had a permanent frown on her face, but then, who’d want a name of an insignificant bauble? And who knew the grief of a daughter growing up with a prostitute for a mother.
She
knew, and even though Trinket had no idea of the link between them, Lucinda felt compassion welling in her heart. “Well, then, what would you like to be called?”

Trinket looked up to the ceiling, unseeing in her concentration. “Trina. That way y’all won’t have a hard time remembering.”

Lucinda smiled. “I like that.” She erased the
ket
and printed an
a
on Trinket’s slate. “There. How’s that?”

Without answering, Trinket proceeded to copy her new name.

Lucinda straightened and announced, “From now on, we’ll call you ‘Trina’ in class.” She looked around the room. “Can everyone remember?”

Six heads nodded.

Petunia stuck out her lower lip and raised her hand.

“
Yes, Petunia?”

“
Did you put ‘Petunia’ on my slate?”

“
Yes, I did.”

“
Well, I wanna make my real name, Patricia.”

Lucinda knew that soiled doves often changed their names. Her own mother used Pansy instead of her given name, Elizabeth. In fact, she hadn’t even known her mother’s real name until the lynching.

She took Petunia’s slate, erased
Petunia
and wrote
Patricia
. She walked to the front of the class and asked, “Anyone else?”

Fannie said, “Not me. My real name’s Frances but I been called Fannie all my life, so I’ll stick with it.”

“
By the end of our lessons, you’ll be able to write anything, including your Christian name.”

“
Where the hell is everyone?” thundered a masculine voice from the front room.

The ladies hid their slates under their skirts.

“
Damned women, anyway,” the brothel owner muttered as he entered the office and removed his hat. He scrutinized the women sitting quite properly on two rows of chairs. “What’s going on here?”

Fannie spoke up. “We’re having a meeting. You have a problem with that?”

He shot a glance at Lucinda. She quickly broke eye contact. Why did such a scoundrel have to be so handsome? She fussed with the already neatly tucked hankie in her sleeve.

“
No,” he cocked his head toward Lucinda, “but why’s the lady still here? And why would she be invited to your meeting?”

Brothel owners held prostitutes like slaves and treated them worse. Not wanting to divulge her true purpose, she answered, “I can’t leave until the next stage.”

To divert the conversation, Fannie said, “Thanks fer the new dresses and bonnets, Reese.”

Reese?
Reese was the first name of the man who had signed her letter of hire. Lucinda wondered just how many Reeses there could be in a town the size of Dickshooter. “What’s your last name, sir?” She bit her tongue on asking such a forward question, but something was definitely off-kilter.

“
McAdams, if it’s any of your business.” He tossed his hat on his desk. “Sorry, girls, but I need to work in my office.”

Reese McAdams! Lucinda’s stomach flip-flopped. Was this all a scam? Did Dickshooter have a school at all? Just why did he bring her here?

Fannie grabbed Lucinda’s arm. “Let’s get some dinner.”

Sadie hadn’t cooked dinner yet, but since she was anxious to get Fannie alone, Lucinda willingly followed her out the door. “Come upstairs with me, Fannie. We need to renegotiate.”