Page 19 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 19

Tea

Victoria slept in a half daze filled with unpleasant nightmares. The sounds of the girls starting the day woke her up. In the backyard, Consuelo was heating the coals for the bath.

It was Sunday morning. Mass.

Victoria did not feel any guilt in skipping. She already had enough trouble thinking, so she sensed like adding God to the mix would only make things worse. He would not be happy with what she had done.

It was strange, how much easier it was to think about Earl’s body at the bottom of a ravine than the feel of Natane’s lips. Victoria hid her face in the pillow.

Outside, someone was taking a bath. There were noises in the kitchen.

“Victoria?” came Lisette’s voice, some time later. “We’re leaving for church. Your breakfast is on the stove.”

She did not answer. They left.

Earl was dead. The sound of his spine breaking on the stairs played in a loop in her head. She closed her eyes and saw his limbs akimbo on the landing. At the bottom of a ravine.

Earl had spent thirty years hitting her, and now he would never hit anyone else.

The girls eventually came back, whispering among themselves. She could not hear their words, but it was apparent they were discussing her. It devolved into an argument.

There were noises in the street, people preparing for the shindig. The girls would be taking customers instead. She soon heard the sound of heavy boots and the practised soft voices they took with their clients.

The bed above her room creaked.

Victoria thought of Natane’s lips. She felt the tingles of desire under her skin, awakening her old, rusty body.

It did not make sense, nothing about this made sense. It was not even taboo, it was simply nonexistent.

And yet, Victoria thought of lips, of long black hair, of dainty feet and delicate ankles, of a stolen glimpse of a naked back. She thought of Natane’s body behind hers, guiding her hands on the pistol, breathing in her ear.

Victoria, guilty, hungry, slid a hand between her legs.

She would not think of God, or Earl, or anything else. She allowed herself that moment of greed, focusing solely on her needs, thinking of copper skin and soft lips.

She came in silence. The rush brought tears to her eyes and, finally, she cried. This, also, she did in silence, hiding her shame and her fear.

Eventually, Lisette came by to tell her about supper. Victoria said nothing, so she went back to work.

Victoria waited for all three of them to be occupied upstairs to use the outhouse and grab some food. She then kept to her room all night, and thought, and thought, and thought. She found no answers.

When Monday morning came, it was not Lisette’s dulcet tones that came through the door, but Consuelo’s exasperated knocks.

“Eat something or Lisette is going to die of worry.” At Victoria’s silence, she huffed. “Well, if you won’t get up to eat, at least do it for manners. You have a visitor.” A moment of hesitation. “It’s Mrs.Díaz.”

Victoria jumped from the bed, terrified. “She’s here ?”

“What do I tell her? Are you coming out, or not?”

“I— Tell her to wait! I’m not presentable!”

She washed and dressed in a record time, pulling her hair in a customary bun. Right before opening the door, she glanced at the mirror and cringed. Her eyes were red and puffy, with deep shadows under them.

She stepped out. Consuelo was awkwardly trying to make small talk with Natane, who stood, rigid, near the front door.

Victoria felt a familiar wave of warmth at her sight. This time, she could put a name on it.

Consuelo muttered something and left for the kitchen. Whispers came out from the other side of the door.

“Victoria.” Natane took off her hat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Natane.” It was strange, staring at each other like that, this time with full awareness. “What brings you over here, so early?”

“I came to see how you were doing. Consuelo said you weren’t at church, yesterday.”

“No. I, I didn’t feel like I had the right to. Because of. You know.”

Because I killed my husband. Because I kissed a woman. Because I touched myself and thought of your skin.

Natane’s eyes were not awkward or evasive. For once, she was staring right back, something so intense in her expression it made Victoria shiver.

Whispers from the kitchen snapped them out of it.

“Let’s talk on the porch,” mumbled Victoria.

They went outside, and stood face to face. Natane was wringing her hat in her hands. Victoria noticed that she was also beautiful in the morning light.

“Victoria, I need to know—” she started, but was interrupted by a shout.

Mrs.Jackson waved at them from her own porch. Mrs.Zhao was with her, smoking, and also Mrs.Horowitz, who gestured for them to approach and did not stop until they had crossed the street.

“Good morning, good morning!” chirped Mrs.Horowitz. “We’re having tea, I’m sure we can fit two more chairs!”

“We’ll have to squeeze,” said Mrs.Jackson.

“Oh, you’re very kind, but you don’t need to bother yourselves,” said Victoria, who wanted nothing more than to be left alone with Natane so they could stare at each other some more.

“Tsh, spend some time with women your age,” said Mrs.Zhao. “You need to be reminded that you’re old and frail, like the rest of us.”

They were ushered inside before they could protest. Victoria was sat on a wooden bench, next to Natane. They could barely fit. Victoria was very aware of Natane’s hip against hers.

“Victoria, I’ve heard all the stories!” gushed Mrs.Horowitz. “Is it true you kicked the Sheriff’s hat right off his head?”

“It is,” she chuckled, awkward. “I had to practise for weeks. I was so afraid to hit him on—” She thought of Earl, falling backwards. “—on the face,” she mumbled.

“I may disapprove of the reason, but I do admire your flexibility,” said Mrs.Jackson, placing a plate of cookies on the table. “Deborah, it’s all safe for you. Ha, only yesterday I tried to catch up to my youngest and I stretched something in my back.”

“We’re too old for this, and Victoria should be too,” said Mrs.Zhao, pouring tea. “But there she goes, dancing and standing on bars, of all things! And drinking all night long with girls half her age!”

“I could never,” said Mrs.Horowitz. “A sip of wine sends me straight to bed. But, Mrs.Díaz, I heard they went to party at your place, afterwards! Can you keep up with them?”

Natane blinked, surprised to be addressed. “No. I just watched over them.”

“You’re a saint,” said Mrs.Jackson. “If three prostitutes knocked at my door in the middle of the night, I’d kick them out so fast they’d see stars.”

“They’re sweet,” said Natane, hiding her malaise in her cup.

Mrs.Jackson grumbled. “Some of them are a little too sweet.”

Mrs.Horowitz coughed and changed the subject. “Say, Victoria, we didn’t see you yesterday at Mass!”

“I was indisposed.”

“No one would blame you,” said Mrs.Zhao. “We all skip Mass once in a while. Well, besides Simone, of course. And Deborah, who has perfect attendance, even though she’s Jewish.”

“Hualing, my dear, there is literally nothing else to do. Everything happens at Mass.”

Mrs.Zhao turned to Victoria. “Once, the priest tripped and broke a tooth. It was the talk of the town for a month.”

“If he breaks another, I am not missing it.”

Mrs.Jackson put her cup back in the saucer with a delicate clink. “Victoria, we heard about your husband,” she said softly.

“People say he escaped in the night,” said Mrs.Horowitz.

“Well, I heard he kidnapped Victoria, and she’s right there,” scoffed Mrs.Zhao. “Don’t believe everything.”

Victoria looked down at her tea. Under the table, Natane pressed her leg against hers.

“I can’t believe he found you all the way over here,” said Mrs.Zhao. “Maybe you didn’t run far enough. I started in San Francisco, and I still wonder if I should have gone further.”

“Will you move out of Swainsburg?” asked Mrs.Horowitz.

Next to her, Natane tensed.

“I’m staying,” decided Victoria, right then and there. “This is my home.”

“A brothel,” noted Mrs.Jackson. “Where men walk in and out all day.”

“And yet, it’s safer than the manor I lived in,” she retorted.

Mrs.Jackson raised her hands in peace. “I’m sorry, my tongue ran faster than my manners.” She pinched her lips, her eyes lost in memories she never talked about. “I can understand what it means, to be safe.”

Mrs.Zhao raised her cup to that.

Mrs.Jackson sighed, generations of pain in that single breath. “At least, I can be grateful that God gave me a good husband.”

Mrs.Horowitz nodded empathetically. Mrs.Zhao took a sip. “And I’m grateful mine is away most of the year.”

Victoria frowned. “Does he…?”

“No, no. I picked that one because he was the softest of the lot. One day, he said, “Marry me?” and I told him I would if he took me and my daughter away from there. He named her as his own. Now he works all year at the railroad, and brags to everyone he has a Chinese wife.” She shrugged with one shoulder. “Sometimes, a man who works and doesn’t beat you is good enough.”

“And what about Mr. Díaz?” asked Mrs.Horowitz, taking Natane by surprise. “He was nice to everyone, always a good word and a helping hand, but sometimes men can be two-faced.”

“No, Sebastian was good to me,” said Natane with a small frown. “I was lucky to have him in my life. We… we understood each other.”

Victoria’s head snapped up. Could Natane mean…?

“That’s good, I’m glad,” said Mrs.Horowitz, nibbling on a biscuit. “Sometimes, you just don’t know. The farms are so far from each other. I say, it’s great to get to chat with you, Mrs.Díaz! I think we never had the pleasure, before!”

“Sebastian used to do most of the talking,” she admitted.

“My James tells me about you,” said Mrs.Jackson, refilling Natane’s cup. “Well, he talks about the horses, the dogs and the chickens, but he likes you. You’ve been kind to him.” She pursed her lips. “We should have reached out to you after your husband’s death.”

“You did,” said Natane. “You helped me bury him, and you brought food.”

“That’s the bare minimum. We shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“It’s alright. I have Victoria, now.”

Victoria felt very warm.

“And thank the Lord for her, but you have us now, too. The old hags of Swainsburg need to stick together.”

“…Thank you.”

“Now that we are friends,” said Mrs.Zhao, “will you let me take a look at that skirt? The pattern at the bottom is gorgeous.”

“It’s traditional Shoshone. My mother embroidered it herself.”

“Nau-ni makes wonderful blankets,” blurted Victoria. “The one on Natane’s bed is a sight to behold.”

This time, it was Natane’s turn to stare.

“I did hear you went up to the Shoshone village!” said Mrs.Horowitz. “What is it like?”

“Like here, full of gossiping old women.”

They laughed and raised their cups in agreement. The conversation grew easier.

“Please tell me you’re ordering more books, soon,” groaned Mrs.Zhao. “Mei is done with the last batch and I caught her with a Latin bible, reading it side by side with an English one. Now she’s learning Latin. Latin!”

Natane scrunched her nose. “Latin was the worst,” she said. “The nuns were unforgiving. My hands still hurt.”

Victoria glanced at her hands. Now that she was looking for it, there were pale lines criss-crossing over the skin. She raised her head, alarmed, and caught Mrs.Jackson’s eye, who subtly shook her head. Victoria kept silent, thinking Simone probably understood scars better than any of them.

Mrs.Zhao ignored the exchange and pointed at Natane with her teacup. “You know Latin? You had a Catholic education, reading, spelling, counting?”

“Yes?”

“Please, please talk to my daughter. I reached the end of what I could teach her.”

Mrs.Horowitz raised a hand. “Can I send you my kids? I’ve been teaching them to write, but I’m a horrible speller myself and I’m never sure I’m teaching them right. I could give you my peach cobbler recipe, in exchange.”

Mrs.Zhao gasped in outrage. “I’ve been asking for years!”

“My youngest needs to learn his sums,” cut in Mrs.Jackson. “I managed to educate David, I managed to raise James, but that one seems to be more trouble than both combined.”

Natane looked overwhelmed, but Victoria’s head was running. “It seems like this town needs a school.”

“We used to have a schoolteacher,” grumped Mrs.Zhao. “She was what, eighteen? Small, mousy thing. She eloped with her oldest student. Don’t look like that, he was twenty. Dumb as a doornail, he was.”

“Is this why there is a blackboard in the barn?” asked Victoria. “We would not need much. We already have the blackboard, the benches and the tables. We would only need writing slates and chalk, maybe an abacus, and more books. And, of course, a teacher.”

She turned to Natane, and hesitated. This, sitting side by side, was the closest they had been since…

She could not afford to think about this. She needed to focus on concrete problems, that were, by far, easier to solve.

“I could hire someone,” she said, gently. “If you don’t wish to do it. I got a doctor; I could find a teacher.”

Natane glanced up, shyly. “I’d like to try. It would be nice to share the things I learned.”

“The brothel, the doctor, and now a teacher?” asked Mrs.Zhao, eyebrows raised. “You’re putting way too much effort into this ridiculous town.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I said it earlier, this is my home, and if money is all I can give, I will do it gladly.”

“Don’t say that,” scolded Mrs.Jackson. “You’ve given us more than just money.”

“Like entertainment,” said Mrs.Zhao. “Fuck, this town was boring before you came.”

“I loved the piano recital,” gushed Mrs.Horowitz. “I can’t wait for your next performance!”

“I played all the songs I could remember, last time. I would need to learn new ones to make it interesting.”

“You could play one song in a loop and it wouldn’t get old,” said Mrs.Horowitz. “I would gladly pay another ten cents to hear the same ones.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Mrs.Jackson, clearing the table. “James can’t attend his lesson today. He’s working at the Carter’s farm.” She caught Victoria’s guilty expression. “Don’t worry about yesterday. I think you can be excused.”

“That boy has been working in every farm of the county,” said Mrs.Horowitz. “Don’t you need him home?”

“I only have a vegetable patch and a couple of chickens back there. Believe me, I would love my own farm. My husband could work at home, for one.”

“Old Clyde Thompson is about to kick the bucket, and his son has been talking about leaving for the city. Maybe you could get theirs?”

“Old Clyde Thompson has been kicking the bucket for the last decade and he still does his own chores. My children will have children before that old coot dies.”

Victoria let their chatter wash over her and calm her down. It was good to feel connected to these people and their problems. From the wreckage that was her mind, a new notion grew. She was home, she was safe, and she was allowed to want things.

She wanted many, many things.

“I have to leave, there’s a lot of baking waiting for me,” said Mrs.Horowitz. “Ladies, it’s been a delight. I can’t wait to do it again!”

They said their goodbyes on the porch, and she left on her raggedy chariot. Mrs.Zhao lit a cigarette and disappeared inside her shop. Mrs.Jackson excused herself and left to fetch water.

In the street, Victoria and Natane looked at each other.

“Can we talk?” asked Natane.

Victoria glanced around. Through the brothel’s open doors, the girls were watching. She could not read their expressions.

Natane followed her gaze. “…Do you want to come over?” she asked in a small voice.

There was a new fear growing inside Victoria. She turned away from her girls’ stares. She could not deal with them until she had talked to Natane. Whatever the outcome would be.

“Let’s go,” she said.

They left on Natane’s cart, and Victoria did not look back.