Page 13 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

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They reached Swainsburg an hour or so after sunset. Victoria was tired, achy, and only wanted a bath and her bed. Seeing the girls lifted her mood.

Lisette jumped into her arms. “You came back!”

“Of course I did, sweetheart. Did you ever doubt it?”

“Huh, yeah,” said Siobhan, allowing a short hug. “She’s been insufferable.”

Consuelo melted in relief against her. “We were all worried.”

“Did you bring us anything?”

She booped Siobhan’s nose, if only to see it scrunch. “Ungrateful child. Help me lug my bags, first. And someone please put the kettle on.”

“On it!” Lisette disappeared inside.

The other two came up to the chariot and started carrying her luggage. David, who was unpacking on his side of the street, was stretching his neck to look inside the brothel. He seemed dejected.

“Eyes forward, my boy,” warned Victoria. “Don’t make me tell your mother.”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Mrs.V?” he whispered. “Don’t you believe in true love?”

“I believe in keeping you alive. Be reasonable, she did not even glance your way.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Well, it’s always nice to travel with you, Mrs.V. Hope we can do this again, sometime.”

“David, I adore you, but I could not sit an hour more on this chariot. I am never leaving Swainsburg.”

He and his family headed back inside for the evening. The girls finished unloading Victoria’s possessions from the cart. There was only Natane left, standing awkwardly near the horses.

“Do you need help with them, my dear? I can take care of Sir Isaac Newton.”

“I have to go home, Victoria.”

She felt as if she had jumped in a lake of freezing water. Natane’s presence, over the past fortnight, had been constant, reassuring, and fascinating. She had forgotten what it was, to not have her at her side.

“…Oh.” She stepped forward, hesitating. “Will you visit?”

“Of course.”

Natane made an aborted gesture, a jerk of her arm, then seemed to think better of it. She tipped her hat and climbed back in the carriage.

“It was nice. See you soon.”

“Yes.”

Victoria watched her leave, feeling very lonely.

Siobhan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Victoria! You promised!”

It was strange to have a brothel feel like a home, and yet, when she stepped in, all of the stress melted away. She was served tea and biscuits and, to the girls’ impatience, made them wait until she was done.

“So?” asked Siobhan the moment she placed the cup back into the saucer.

“You may look,” she waved at the luggage.

She watched them exclaim over the new beddings, the clothes, the books, the sheet music. Eventually, Consuelo grabbed Victoria’s canvas bag and frowned at the red satin peeking out.

“Huh, Victoria?”

“Hand this over, pumpkin.”

She pulled out a beautiful evening gown, the crimson shining under the lights of the oil lamps. Lisette had to sit down.

Consuelo brushed her fingers over the embroidered roses. “This is gorgeous.”

“I hope it fits,” said Victoria, holding it in front of Consuelo. “If not, I’m sure Hualing can make some alterations.”

“Wait, is this for me?”

“Of course, who else? I haven’t been able to fit in these for years. Oh, I was right, that colour looks incredible with your complexion.”

The second dress, in a deep emerald, went to Siobhan. “Where in hell are we supposed to wear this?” she asked, fascinated by the beading. “Church?”

“Don’t be silly, those necklines are way too indecent for Mass.” She pulled the last one, sky blue, and placed it in Lisette’s hands. The girl simply stared at the lace.

“I think you broke her,” said Siobhan after a moment of silence.

Consuelo, dress pressed against her, whooshed the skirt this way and that. “This is the prettiest thing I’ve ever owned. I don’t care if it doesn’t fit, I’ll just hang it on the wall so I can admire it.”

Victoria pinched the fabric and lifted it thigh high. “I was thinking we could make you cancan dresses out of them.”

A long squeal came out of Lisette. Siobhan rolled her eyes. “That means yes.”

“Wonderful! I’ll bring these to Hualing in the morning. I hope she has enough time to alter three dresses before next church weekend.”

“Four,” corrected Consuelo.

“Pardon?”

“Your wedding dress. The white will look amazing on the stage.”

“It’s not like you need it anymore,” shrugged Siobhan. “And your fans would lose it.”

“I don’t have—”

“Say yes?” begged Lisette, her eyes huge. “Please?”

Victoria sighed. This was a ridiculous idea.

*

The next morning, Victoria crossed the street, three dresses under an arm, and the huge white one over her shoulder. Mrs.Zhao, seeing her, immediately made grabby hands.

“Yes, finally!” she placed the wedding dress on her work table. “It’s even better up close. Look at this detail. And that satin feels like water. Fuck, I wish I could make something as pretty as this.”

“Well, I was wondering if you could make some alterations.”

“Yeah, I can adjust it to your size,” she mumbled. “I can use some fabric from the train. You want to outshine everyone at church?”

“The complete opposite. I want it to be a cancan dress.”

Mrs.Zhao gasped. “You’re asking me to take a pair of scissors to this beauty? Barbarian!”

“You know what? You’re right. I’ll tell the girls it simply was not to be. These three other ones, though, would need to be—”

“Though it would look sexy as hell,” mused Mrs.Zhao. “Shorter skirt, lower neckline. The sleeves would have to go, but we could keep the puffy shoulders.”

“Ah, are you certain…?”

“It’s a challenge. Come on, take off your clothes and hop on that step stool. MEI!”

“Surely it’s not necessary to do this right this moment—”

“On the step stool!” she snapped.

It took all three of them and a thread cutter to get Victoria in the wedding dress. They had to remove the lacing, leaving the back open, stretched over her chemise. Victoria could feel, very brutally, every pound she had gained during the last thirty years.

“Mei, hold these skirts while I figure this out,” Mrs.Zhao adjusted the length, pinning the flowing material to the corset. “We shorten it like this at the front, keep the back long. I’ll use the extra fabric to wrap here, and here.”

The new hemline was right above her knees. “Hum… Isn’t that a little short?”

“Do you want to be a cancan dancer or a nun?” she scoffed. “Are you gonna wear bloomers or go natural under that?”

“ Natural ?”

“Heard that’s how the French do it.” She saw Victoria’s horrified face. “Yeah, I figured. You’re going to need smaller underthings, though. I can make you something out of the extra satin. Oh, with a border of lace.”

“I think this is getting out of hand…”

“Stop squirming. Now, I’m going to keep the main bust, those stitched flowers are beautiful, but I’m going to lower the neckline to…” She estimated with her hand a point over Victoria’s breasts, barely above the nipples. Victoria grabbed it and raised it to the neck. They did a little tug of war and eventually stopped at a halfway point, which was still way too low for Victoria’s comfort.

“Fine, I can work with that. I’ll build a stronger corset inside, lift the ladies up real nice, and we can even remove the shoulders, here.”

“You want me to show my shoulders ?”

“I can leave that puffy sleeve, move it down, here. But the rest has to go. You can wear long gloves, if you insist on covering up.”

“You’re worried about my arms when you’re planning to expose half of my body?”

“Haven’t you seen the new catalogue? It’s all the rage now, with the youngsters. Ain’t I right, Mei?”

The teenager did not raise her head from her book. “Yes, Mother.”

“Are you on that one again?” sighed Mrs.Zhao, exasperated. She turned to Victoria. “Did you bring new books like I asked?”

That caught Mei’s attention. “You asked for a book?”

“I asked for book s ,” she corrected, putting emphasis on the plural. “Was getting tired of seeing you with the same three ones.”

“Did you only have three books?” said Victoria, gently.

“This whole town only has three books,” Mei grumbled.

“And a fuck ton of bibles,” said Mrs.Zhao. “So?”

“I brought an entire crate.” Victoria smiled at Mei’s look of absolute wonder. “Plays, tales, some information books, and, well, some you’re not old enough to read.”

“I want to read those ,” muttered Mrs.Zhao, pins between her lips.

“And I got something especially for you, Mei. It’s under the blue dress, over there.”

Mei grabbed the book with reverence. She stared a long time at the title, with its intricate characters over the engraving of a tree. She threw a nervous glance at her mother.

Mrs.Zhao squinted at the cover. “Huh. Well. Say thanks.”

“Thank you, Mrs.Victoria,” whispered Mei. She softly flipped through the pages. “The illustrations are so pretty.”

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“Alright,” snapped Mrs.Zhao. “I’m done for now. Mei, you can go read.”

“Huh…” Mrs.Zhao threw her a warning look, “Yes mother, thank you.”

She ran upstairs, her long black braid floating behind her.

Mrs.Zhao helped Victoria remove the dress without unpinning her work.

“That was a nice thing you did.”

“She’s welcome to the other ones, too, I’ll be leaving the crate on the bar. Well, if she’s allowed to come in, of course.”

“Oh yeah, sure. At least it’ll get her out of her room.”

“…Doesn’t it bother you? I had assumed you would be stricter, like Simone.”

Mrs.Zhao waved her hand dismissively. “Simone can afford to be all uptight about that. She’s married. Not all women have that luck.”

“Don’t you have a husband?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he’s somewhere,” she waved dismissively towards the South. “What I mean is, people are very small-minded ‘round these parts. Either you’re a good, respectable lady, or you’re a dirty slut headed straight to hell. I mean, I get why Simone can be such a righteous bitch sometimes. People are going to be dicks about her skin anyway, she can’t let them an inch of rope to hang her with. Her reputation is pretty much the only thing protecting her kids at this point. We all do what we have to do for our children.” She glanced up.

Victoria thought of Henry. She had tried her best, and it had not been enough.

Mrs.Zhao folded the dress. “I want Mei to be smarter than me. One day, women like us are going to be allowed to be more than launderers,” she gestured at the barrels of bleach outside. “She needs to be ready. I want her to read all the books you can bring here. Even if she has to learn Cantonese to do so.”

“Cantonese?”

“That book you brought her. It’s Cantonese. We speak Mandarin.”

Victoria stood there, rooted to the spot in mortification. Mrs.Zhao patted her shoulder.

“It’s still good. You’re the first person to give her a book, ever. You even went to the Chinatown just to find her something. I won’t forget that.”

“But what is the point if she can’t read it?”

“She can still look at the illustrations. It’s our culture, it’s important.” She pushed her out of the door. “Enough, I need to work. Send your girls over so I can get them fitted, too.”

Victoria found herself standing in the street, feeling very gauche.

*

It took three days to tune the piano. It was long and tiring work, to adjust the mechanisms and test each key until they made the perfect sound. Victoria was glad she remembered her mother’s lessons. In SaltLake, she could hire an expert, but during her childhood there had been no piano tuner near her father’s ranch.

She sat and played a chord. The notes rang in the air, clear and beautiful.

Lisette’s head appeared in the kitchen door. “That actually sounded good?”

“Does that mean you’re finally done?” yelled Siobhan from her room.

Victoria smirked and threw herself into Chopin’s Grande Valse Brillante . Her first notes were hesitant, but soon her hands were flying over the keyboard. It felt like coming home.

She finished the song to enthusiastic clapping from the girls, sitting at the closest table, and from James, standing in the open door. She waved him in.

“That was beautiful!” said Consuelo.

“Almost worth the torture,” added Siobhan.

“Oh, please, do another one!” asked Lisette. James nodded fervently.

Victoria played, and played. She tried some Mozart, some Bach, but it was Chopin that was drilled into her blood. She eventually had to take a break to spare her hands. The moment she stood from the bench, Consuelo grabbed her arm and pulled her to the porch. The street was full of curious people.

“A wave of applause for the artist!” There was awkward clapping, a lone cheer. “She will perform tomorrow evening, at seven. This will be a respectable show, so women are welcome. Entrance is five cents; drinks are half-price!”

They left the townspeople to mutter among themselves and returned inside. “You could have warned me,” chided Victoria. “I am way out of shape.”

“Like they’ll notice.” She grabbed Victoria by the shoulders, excited. “This is great! We don’t get many clients between church weekends. We won’t have to wait for the cowboys, we can now get money from the actual people of Swainsburg! From the women, even!”

While the girls huddled over the bar to make plans, Victoria joined James at the piano.

“Did you come and play when I was in Salt Lake City?” she asked, kindly. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the keys. “The piano sounds even better, now. You can try it.”

He played each key in succession, left to right, with a single finger. When he reached the end, he went back and found his favourite. He pressed it repeatedly with a satisfied smile.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I can teach you how to play. Would you like that?”

He nodded with enthusiasm. She went to fetch her sheet music and returned to find him still playing his favourite note.

“Look, the songs are written here.” She pulled up another chair, making sure not to touch him accidentally. She slowly showed him the scales and the hand positioning.

She tried not to think about Henry, who had once sat next to her just like this. He was four, six, ten years old. She wondered if there was a piano, wherever he was.

They spent an hour together. James was a quick learner; she never had to explain something twice. He did not like that the scale started with C instead of A, though. It had taken them a moment to move from there.

Consuelo brought Victoria a cup of tea and a bottle of sarsaparilla for James.

“Thank you, pumpkin. Dear me, has it really been an hour? No wonder I feel tired. James, I think we are done for today.”

He frowned and pecked at his favourite key. “James, my boy, it’s time to go back to your mama’s house.” He shook his head and pressed with more insistence.

“James, you know how it works,” said Consuelo. “You come at 3:00 in the afternoon, and you can play for an hour. It’s not going to change because Mrs.Victoria is here. Go home, you can return tomorrow.”

He stood up suddenly, the chair falling behind him, and marched out without another word.

“Oh my, is he alright?”

“I think so. Simone says not to worry, he gets into a mood when stuff becomes too much. He just needs to cool down somewhere else. He usually walks out of town, yells a bit, and comes back. To be honest, we’ve all done that at least once.” She shrugged and grabbed the sarsaparilla.

“I hope I did not offend him.”

“He’ll be back tomorrow, three on the dot, like every day when you were in Salt Lake. I’m just glad the piano is finally tuned; it was driving Siobhan crazy.”

They sat on the porch with their drinks. Victoria’s eyes went to the south.

“You’re doing it again,” said Consuelo.

“Doing what, pumpkin?”

“You keep looking that way, ever since you returned from Salt Lake.”

“Oh,” she frowned down at her cup, feeling exposed. “It’s nothing. Simply… Natane said she would visit, and she has not. Yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll drop by, she’s more sociable, now. Before you were here, she barely ever came to town and talked to no one if she could avoid it. Doesn’t help that she seems so gloomy all the time.”

Victoria felt defensive. “She’s in mourning.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” A sip. “Okay, now I feel bad. She must be lonely, no? In that big farm. Fuck, we should have made more of an effort.” Another sip, angry. “We should have done better. Mr. Díaz was so chatty, it was easy to let him talk and forget about his wife.”

Victoria hesitated. “You knew him?”

“Oh yeah, he was funny. He also forced me to practise my Spanish by ignoring anything I said in English. It was nice of him. I’d had no one to talk with since I left Mexico.”

Victoria glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Speaking of Mexico, when I met Mrs.Porter—”

Consuelo snorted. “Did you peek in the box?”

“…Perhaps.” She blushed. “But, pumpkin, she said…”

“That I killed a guy? Yeah, I did that.” She took a sip, composing herself. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice, you know how it is. White affluent man tries to get handsy with a young girl, there’s a shovel nearby, you need to flee before your face gets printed on all the posters from coast to coast.”

“How old were you?”

She shrugged. “Fourteen. Almost. Don’t look at me like that, it was forever ago.”

Victoria put an arm around her shoulders. After a while, Consuelo rested her head against her.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She took a deep breath. “But tell me about the box. You opened it?”

“Natane did.”

“Mrs.Díaz?” she gurgled, coughing her drink. “Oh my God, Victoria! Mrs.Díaz saw my new toys— what— how— what?”

“She said they looked like farm equipment. And that you could borrow anything from her barn.”

Consuelo snorted. “I didn’t know she could be funny.”

“She’s hilarious! At first, I could not see it either, but sometimes, she gets that tiny smile and you see the amusement in her eyes. That’s how you know she’s joking.” She stared at the horizon, longingly.

“You’re doing it again.” Victoria turned away immediately. “No, don’t. We’re just relieved. Siobhan said you might be missing your husband.”

Victoria scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I miss that man like I miss my dislocated shoulder.”

Consuelo cuddled closer. “You never talk about it.”

Victoria stayed silent for a long moment. Took another sip of tea. Her voice came out very low, almost a whisper.

“My husband hurt me,” she said, for the first time out loud. “He hurt me in so many ways, over many, many years. He took away my freedom and my will to live. He took away my son.”

“Henry, right? I saw the portrait, he’s a beautiful kid.”

“He’s way older than this, now. He’s thirty-one.” She breathed in. “They did not like each other much. They were always fighting. Earl was kinder to him than he was to me, but that’s not much in the grand scheme of things. Henry was a child.” She set her empty teacup on the armrest and placed a hand over her heart. “I feel his absence, right here. It’s a sinkhole. There is not an hour that I don’t think of him.”

Consuelo hugged her back. They stayed like that for a long moment, in silence.

Siobhan’s head appeared at the door. “Is crying time over?”

Victoria chuckled. “Yes, we should be done. Come on, sit with us, I promise we won’t talk about our feelings.”

“Thank God.” They all scuttled to leave her some space, and she let herself fall next to Victoria, legs akimbo. “What were you two whispering about anyway?”

“Victoria agreed to do cancan on the bar,” grinned Consuelo, fixing her hair bun.

“I certainly did not !”

“Fuck, that would make us rich,” said Siobhan. “Imagine, we could ask for a whole dollar just for admission!” She noticed Consuelo’s small frown and winced. “Oh no, that’s her thinking face. That means work.”

“A stage,” said Consuelo, stopped halfway through her hairdo, ribbon in hand. “If we switch the long table and the small ones, we can free some space near the right wall. We wouldn’t need something too tall, a foot high at the most. We could set the piano next to it, near the windows.”

Siobhan tilted her head. “They’re selling the old saloon’s lumber at a reduced price. I’m sure we could get a deal for the… What am I doing, I’m encouraging her.”

Lisette joined them with her own cup of tea. “What are we talking about?”

“Stage,” muttered Consuelo, still lost in thought.

“Oh, a théatre !” she said, pronouncing it in French. “What a delightful idea!” She sat on the steps, all the way to the left, and rearranged her skirt carefully.

“Do you want to switch places?” asked Victoria. “Or we could bring a chair from inside.”

“No, thank you.”

Siobhan squinted at her. “You always do that,” with an accusatory finger at the stairs. “You hate bugs, you hate dust, and still, you sit there every day.”

Lisette raised her nose. “Maybe I like sitting on the floor.”

“Pull the other one. Why—”

“So, plays?” cut Lisette. “I saw the Shakespeare book.”

“You’ve read Shakespeare?” asked Siobhan.

“I’ve heard of him,” she scoffed.

Victoria raised her hands in peace. “It might be complicated. There is only four of us, and Shakespeare plays can be a bit convoluted. We could do some selected scenes, though, and narrate the rest.”

“Let’s do a romantic one!” Lisette chirps. “I heard about Romeo and Juliet; they say it’s the greatest love story!”

“Well, yes,” Victoria trailed off. “You have these two lovers, but their families are at war with each other…”

Lisette’s eyes grew huge and sad. “So, they can’t be together?”

“Are you gonna cry?” asked Siobhan.

“Can they be together?” insisted Lisette, a bit desperate. “Are they happy, in the end? Please, tell me they’re happy.”

“…They die,” said Victoria. “I’m sorry.”

Lisette’s face crumbled down. Without another word, she stood and went back inside. They heard the stairs, and the door to her room close violently. On the steps, her cup was still full.

“That was weird,” Siobhan frowned.

Even Consuelo had been brought back to reality, interrupted in her mental preparations. “Maybe we can pick something else. Victoria, do you know any happy ones?”

“Some of them. Fetch me the book? We can find a more suitable one.”

She could have told them about the funny story she had read to Natane and David on the road. The one where a young woman, dressed as a man, creates such a complicated love triangle. But she did not want to share this story, or play it in front of the town. It seemed too personal, somehow.

*

The following day passed in a cleaning frenzy.

“These are not our usual customers,” said Consuelo, furiously sweeping. “Old cowboys, they’re just happy to sit anywhere higher than the ground. Now, we’re going to have women in here. Real, married, respectable women, who keep their children, their farms, and their homes spotless.”

“I don’t think such women exist,” noted Victoria.

Siobhan had been trying to remove a dubious stain on a chair. “When do I stop?”

“You stop when you can convince Lisette to sit on it!”

“Lisette?” Siobhan called upstairs.

Lisette glanced from the second floor. “Ew, no!”

“But you sit on the front steps every day—”

“It’s not the same!”

Victoria tuned them out and made to stand up from the piano bench. Consuelo stopped her with a glare.

“Pumpkin, surely I can help.”

“No. Your only job is to play and be pretty.”

Victoria sighed and went back to her scales. It was difficult to catch up on years of practice in only a day. She focused on the songs she knew better, saving the more elaborate ones for a later date. She doubted that her audience would complain, or even notice, if most of her repertoire was only Chopin.

Eventually, voices could be heard from the street. “Go get ready,” said Consuelo. “We’re almost done, here.”

The first floor had been transformed. There were pretty tablecloths, flowers, plates of small biscuits, and a variety of mismatched tea sets, beautifully arranged on the small tables. The shutters were closed and the lights dimmed, giving the place a cozy, intimate feel.

Victoria went to Lisette’s room, her nose scrunching at the smell of lavender. Her church blouse and skirt, cleaned and pressed, waited for her on the bed.

She arranged her hair in her usual bun, but, looking at the mirror, found it all rather lacking. This was a show, not mass. She was allowed to be more dramatic.

Lisette had left her makeup on the dresser. It had been years since Victoria had used it for anything more than covering her bruises. She was, after all, old, married, and, as far as the upper crust of Salt Lake City was concerned, a devout Mormon. They expected her to be modest.

She picked up the tube of rouge. It was a scandalous, bright red. Earl would have said it was a colour fit for a whore. Good, she thought. She was friends with whores. She was performing for a paying audience. She was wearing rouge.

The woman staring back from the mirror looked daring. Provocative. Pretty. It was a rather new feeling.

Downstairs, the chatter was getting louder. Victoria had to wait until the first round of drinks had been served, which gave her more than enough time to become a bundle of nerves.

She wondered who would be there. The town’s ladies? Would they allow their husbands to come?

Would Natane be there?

The girls finally called. Victoria took a deep breath and opened the door. Most of the tables were occupied, the people wearing their Sunday best. She made her way down under their curious stares and waved a timid hello to Mrs.Zhao, who was sitting with Mr. and Mrs.Smith from the general store. There was Paul at the bar, where Consuelo was pouring the last batch of beers. Lisette and Siobhan, in their modest clothes, served tea and drinks.

She did not see Mrs.Jackson, which was not surprising. But Natane was also absent.

Victoria swallowed the hurt and made her way to the piano in the most absolute silence. Somehow, this seemed harder than working a room full of rowdy cowboys. There was only her, and the music.

She looked over her shoulder. The girls were smiling, encouragingly.

Victoria placed her hands on the keys and played.

*

An hour in, Consuelo called for an intermission to boost their sales. Victoria rose to her feet and stretched her poor fingers. She was immediately swarmed by the town’s women who gushed about the music. She managed to politely extricate herself and went out to get some fresh air. She wanted a whisky.

“Evening, Mrs.Montgomery.”

She jumped back, yelping in fear. She had not seen anyone in the shadows of the porch, but there was the gangly figure of a man leaning against the wall, smoking. He was so close, she thought, horrified at her own lack of awareness. After a moment, she recognized the moustache and the star-shaped badge.

“Oh. Good evening, Sheriff Buckley.”

“Quite a show you gave there. Old Sam could play a jaunty tune, but nothing as nice as this.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could catch you, Mrs.Montgomery. I’ve been wanting to chat.”

She frowned. They had not talked since the first church weekend, but their interaction had left a sour taste in her mouth.

He approached and leaned on the nearest post. Victoria glanced at the gun at his hip.

“I saw the books,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“My wife. She borrowed one of the books you brought back, looked way too raunchy for a good woman to be reading.” He took a puff. “Haven’t seen her giggle like that since we were teenagers.”

“I don’t have much time, Sheriff,” she bristled. “Please get to the point.”

“I see the books; I see the piano. Heard something about French dancing and the seamstress making you dresses. What else you got planned, Mrs.Montgomery?”

She stood taller, a bit annoyed. “Maybe a play. Is any of this a problem, Sheriff?”

“Not right now,” he blew smoke towards the street. “But I know where it’s going. The madam buys the brothel, then the saloon, the dance halls, and a couple years down the road, she has every politician in her pocket.”

“Are you insinuating that I could be … what, a threat?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. Or maybe I could be wrong and you’re actually a gift.”

“I don’t understand.”

He crushed his cigarette on the wood post. “Tomorrow, you’ll wake up with a full safe. You’ll probably get something pretty for the girls, like shoes, and a prime cut of beef to celebrate. And if, after that, you’re still looking for ways to spend that money? Well, this town needs a doctor.”

He tipped his hat. “I’ll let you return to your public. Evening, Mrs.Montgomery.”

She watched him walk up the street. She thought of Belle Porter and everything she was building in Rock Springs.

She marched back inside and demanded a whisky.

*

Victoria slammed the catalogue open on the bar.

“Pick something,” she told the girls.

While Lisette and Siobhan bickered over which page to start on, Consuelo raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what we’re doing with your earnings?”

“Well, first, I’m getting tablecloths and mugs, so next time we won’t have to borrow them from everyone in town. Then, I’ll order whatever you want. Yes, Lisette, even shoes.” She patted the nearest head, which was Siobhan’s, who allowed it. “After that, we’ll go to the butcher and buy a delicious piece of meat that we’ll roast all afternoon.”

She unbuttoned her cuffs and folded her sleeves.

“And after all that,” she went on, “we’ll deposit the rest at the bank.”

“Finally, she makes sense,” grumbled Siobhan. “The interest rates are good, lately.”

“We will save that money, and the money we will make with the dancing, the plays, the piano, and the church weekends. When there’s enough, we will hire a doctor.”

The girls exchanged looks. Siobhan was the first to ask, “Huh?”

“It’s a decent way to spend our income.” She shrugged. “Unless you want crystal shoes.”

Consuelo tilted her head. “No, a doctor is a good idea. We need one, badly.”

“But crystal shoes,” mumbled Lisette.

“Come with me to the bank,” said Victoria. “I wish to be back on time for James’s lesson.”

“Maybe someday he’ll be the one doing a show,” said Consuelo. “And his mother will have no choice but to set foot in here. I can’t believe she didn’t come, aren’t you supposed to be her friend?”

“Mrs.Díaz wasn’t there either,” Siobhan said, unaware of the pain she caused. “How come?”

Victoria huffed. “I don’t pretend to know what Natane Díaz does with her days.” She grabbed the bag. “Are you coming or not?”

When she stepped on the street, she definitely did not look towards Natane’s house.

*

Victoria spent two whole days alternating between anger and sadness, before she realized that Natane, who lived alone and far from the town, had probably not heard about the show. It had been arranged in a single day, after all. Victoria rolled over in bed and muffled a frustrated shriek in her pillow.

“I’m a fool,” she groaned.

There was a knock at the door. “I don’t want to interrupt your screaming, but it’s your turn to make breakfast,” said Siobhan.

Victoria let her annoyance be known to the cookware. There was something satisfying in the noise made by the pans, the slammed oven door, the knife against the cutting board. She was aware she was being ridiculous, but it had been so long since she could have a real, angry snit without the fear of her husband’s retaliation.

“A pie,” she mumbled. “I’ll bake a pie and it will fix everything.”

The girls wisely left her alone all morning. She did go a bit overboard, trying to make the most perfect pie in existence. She did not know why she was so invested, but it had to be impeccable.

“Smells good,” said Consuelo, braver than the other two.

“It’s not for you,” she snapped.

“Okay…”

In the end, the pie looked flawless. Perfect crust, perfect smell, perfect colour. She only needed to get changed, borrow their neighbour’s cart, and drive to Natane’s place. The fruits were about to go bad , she would say, nonchalant. I fear I baked a little too much, haha! Then, they would sit, and eat, and laugh, as if the previous days had never happened. As if Victoria had not driven herself crazy for no reason at all.

“Victoria!” Siobhan shouted. “Mrs.Díaz is here!”

Her first reaction was pure delight. Natane was there! Then she remembered she was covered in flour and sugar, and that her hair was half falling from her bun.

Oh no.

She wanted to remove the apron, at the very least, but she could hear Siobhan talk to Natane. “Yeah, Victoria’s been pretty moody. Be careful or she’ll rip your head off.”

Victoria walked out, smiling maniacally, and grabbed Siobhan from the back, by the shoulders, to pull her away from the conversation.

“Natane! What a wonderful surprise! I was about to give you pie! I mean, I’ve been baking, I was about to go see you, and give you a pie…”

She stopped. Natane, silhouetted against the daylight from the door, was a sight to behold. Victoria had the passing thought that the woman seemed lovelier every time she saw her.

Natane was wearing that tiny smile, the one in her eyes, that meant she was laughing inside.

“Hello, Victoria.” Was her voice always that smooth? “I’m glad to see you again.”

“Me too,” she breathed. “I— I thought you would visit sooner…”

“I wanted to, but the goat gave birth and I had to make sure the kids lived through the first few days. I’d have been back earlier if I could.”

Victoria was too happy to feel stupid. “It’s alright,” she smiled. “I made a pie. Do you want some?”

“Why does she get pie?” asked Siobhan, still held in front of Victoria like a shield. “She’s the one who didn’t come to see you play!”

Natane frowned in confusion. “Play?”

Victoria pushed Siobhan away. “Piano. It was nothing, really…”

But Siobhan was not done. “The whole town was there. We made bank. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s the only thing people have been talking about.”

“I haven’t seen anyone. Victoria, I’m so sorry. I should have been there.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s alright. It was arranged at the last minute…”

“Please let me know when you’ll do another performance?”

“I… I can play now if you’d like.”

She smiled. “I’d love that.”

“Just, err, allow me to change. Siobhan can make you tea.”

“Why me?”

“If you want pie, you make tea,” ordered Victoria.

Siobhan left, grumbling, and suddenly, they found themselves alone. They had not been alone since Salt Lake City. There was a certain nervousness in the air, something intangible that had not been present last time.

“Hi,” said Victoria again, softer. “I’m glad to see you.”

“So am I,” said Natane with her own vulnerable smile. “I came to ask you something.”

“Yes. I mean— Yes?”

Natane looked away. “I have to deliver the plow to the tribe. I know you just returned and you’ve got no reason to accept, but I thought I’d ask, at least. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

Siobhan returned with the tea set. They drank, ate pie, played piano. They laughed.

They had a wonderful afternoon.