Page 2 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 2

Martha Jackson

Victoria walked north for hours. She left the imposing banks, fancy manors and pretty shops behind her, to walk through an entire city of anonymous buildings. Brick and paved avenues slowly changed into wood and dirt, more and more people filling the streets. She sensed their stares on her skin and felt nauseous with fear.

She reached Hooper Street, a narrow path flanked with ramshackle homes. She stood out even more, with her pale complexion and delicate clothes. There were no white Mormons in this part of town; here lived the workers, the help, the anonymous faces needed to build a city from the ground up.

Number twenty-seven was small and plain, stuck between two other houses. Victoria stood there, trying to find the courage to knock.

Before she could, the door opened on a tall dark man, who stopped in his tracks and stared. “…Huh, what?” he blinked, at a complete loss.

“Ah, good morning, sir,” blurted Victoria, her manners taking over. “My apologies for bothering you so early, and without a warning. I’m looking for Martha Jackson.” At the man’s silence, she hesitated. “…Does she live here?”

“Martha?” he called over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on Victoria. “There’s a rich Englishwoman here to see you?”

A moment later, he was replaced by a thin Black woman in a work dress and apron.

“Mrs.Stanton?” she hesitated. “What are you doing…? Oh.” She took a better look at Victoria’s pitiful state, from her hair to her clothes, to the humongous dress she was carrying. “Did you finally do it? Did you leave?”

Victoria wanted to answer, yet instead of words, there was a sob. She blinked, trying to get her composure back, her eyes quickly filling with tears. This was unacceptable. Not only was she being extremely rude, stopping by without a warning, but she doubted Martha would appreciate a bawling uptown woman on her doorstep.

“Oh, dear Lord, Mrs.Stanton,” said Martha, gently ushering her inside. “Come in, please. You look dead on your feet.”

Victoria was led to the kitchen table and collapsed into the nearest chair. Her feet hurt after walking the length of the city in shoes that were never supposed to go outside. It was almost bad enough to make her forget about her arm.

The place was small, a kitchen and a living room all at once, with a bed pushed against the furthest wall. Next to it was a door ajar, where two little faces watched her silently. She could hear Martha and her husband whispering frantically from the other room.

Victoria nudged the dress under the table, embarrassed at the sheer extravagance of the garment. It seemed even more excessive in the minuscule, humble house.

“All my apologies for barging here uninvited,” she muttered when Martha came back. “I simply did not know where else to go.”

Martha leaned on the table, crossing her arms and taking her all in. “What are you talking about? I did invite you. I just didn’t think it would take so long.”

Victoria tried to answer, but once again, her voice caught in her throat.

“Just sit there,” sighed Martha, not unkindly. “I’ll make tea. Heavens, are you still wearing your yesterday’s clothes? And is that a wedding dress?”

It was too big, it did not fit under the table. Victoria pushed the petticoats back in. The thing was excessive to the point of being disrespectful.

Martha busied herself with the stove, turning around to give Victoria a moment to gather her emotions, for which she was grateful. By the time a mug was placed in front of her, she had most of her countenance back.

Martha sat with her. “Are you alright?”

Victoria shrugged with her good shoulder.

“I got to leave for work,” she went on, “and you need someone to check that arm. It doesn’t look right.”

“It may be broken,” admitted Victoria in a whisper.

“My husband and I need to go soon. One of our neighbours watches the kids during the day, so you can sleep for a while, no one is going to bother you. You can take David’s bed.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself more for me, I can’t—”

“Mrs.Stanton,” she cut her off, “I don’t have the time to argue with you. You asked for help, so you need to let me help you.”

Victoria was sick with shame—asking for help, inconveniencing people she barely knew—all of it was unacceptable. “Drink your tea,” said Martha. Victoria drank her tea.

The young woman went on. “We don’t have doctors around here, but there’s a cattle veterinarian who lives a few streets away. I’ll get him after work.” She hesitated. “Do you have an idea of what you want to do, after this?”

“I don’t know. I can’t stay here. Earl has connections everywhere; he would find me sooner or later.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the kind of people you had for dinner,” she sneered. “They would sell you out for a penny. Do you have family, anywhere?”

Victoria shook her head. “My parents passed a long time ago. And I have a son, but…”. She could not finish, her voice coming out as a strangled whimper. Her eyes were tearing up again.

“Isn’t he the one who ran away at sixteen? Maybe I’m confusing him with someone else’s son, there’s a lot of drama going on in these rich manors.”

“No, you are right. My Henry left, and never wrote.” A sniffle. “I don’t know where to find him, and now he won’t know how to find me.”

Her tears won, and she cried into her mug, trying to keep her sobs silent. Martha waited her out.

Eventually, Martha’s husband and children had to leave. They passed her, awkward in their own house, and Victoria wanted to die.

“I need to leave soon, too,” said Martha, getting up and leading her to the tiny cot. “You can take David’s bed. He’s in town but he can crash with the kids tonight.”

She helped Victoria with her clothes. The beige satin dress had to be unbuttoned and slipped over the head; but even when moved with the utmost delicacy, the pain in Victoria’s shoulder almost made her cry. Martha then helped her take off the bustle, the corset, the petticoats, and the pins of her updo.

Victoria was mortified. Here she was, only wearing a long chemise and bloomers, in a stranger’s house.

“Here, lie down, I’ll put your pretty wedding dress at the foot of the bed.” She covered her with a thick woolen blanket. “I’ll be back in the evening.”

Victoria laid her head on the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

*

The veterinarian was an old Black man with a snowy-white beard, dressed in overalls that smelled strongly of cattle. He was gentle with Victoria’s arm, moving it around with a frown.

“The good news—it’s only dislocated. It can be fixed. The bad news? It’s going to hurt like a horse kick in the balls.”

“Language,” tutted Martha. “She’s a lady.”

“She won’t be talking like a lady when I snap this into place. D’you have anything strong?”

Martha took a dark bottle from the highest shelf. The etiquette claimed it was cough syrup. “I bought this from a travelling salesman, last year, when my husband cut his arm.”

The veterinarian sniffed the contents and spluttered. “What in hell is this? Chloroform, laudanum, alcohol?”

“And cannabis too, if I remember correctly.”

“Martha, it’s half-empty! Your husband should be dead!”

“Well, he’s not. Here, Mrs.Stanton,” she poured two sips in a mug. “Bottoms up, and bite on this.”

The smell alone was enough to knock someone out. Victoria managed to keep it all down, and bit into a leather belt. Already, her head was spinning.

“Alright there, Mrs.Stanton?” Victoria nodded, woozy. “Good. Just relax, and—”

Without warning, the veterinarian snapped her arm into place. Victoria screamed through the leather and almost passed out from the agony.

“Yeah, I know,” grunted the veterinarian, laying her down on the bed. “That should be the worst of it. You’re going to need a sling, at least for the next few weeks.”

Victoria felt the pain slowly recede to a dull throb. Her thoughts were cloudy. She closed her eyes and lost consciousness for a while.

When she came to herself, the veterinarian was gone and Martha was speaking with a new person. It was a young man of dark skin and curly hair, dressed in jeans and a rough shirt. He was looking at her, twisting a straw hat between his hands.

“Her husband did that?” he whispered, horrified.

“Hush, don’t wake her. When are you leaving again?”

“Tomorrow morning. You want me to drive her somewhere? I can drop her at Rock Springs, it’s on my route.”

“That’s way too soon, the poor woman just got her arm snapped back into place. I don’t think she can travel, not in that state. Can you wait another day?”

“Not really. If I’m late, they take it out of my pay.”

Martha noticed that Victoria was awake. She sat on the bed next to her.

“Welcome back, Mrs.Stanton. This is my cousin David, he makes deliveries. He can drive you to Rock Springs.”

At Victoria’s blank stare, David hurried to explain. “It’s in Wyoming territory, past the Green River, in Sweetwater County. Couple of days from here. It’s nothing like Salt Lake, but big enough to be called a town. Unlike Swainsburg .”

Martha clucked. “I don’t feel right dropping her in a new city, all alone. At least, in Swainsburg, there’s Simone. But I don’t believe she has the space for another person.”

David rolled his eyes. “Swainsburg’s got nothing but space. It’s one street . And some farms. And ranches. You’re a fancy lady, Mrs.S, I don’t think there’s anything up to your standards, over there.”

“I grew up on a ranch,” she mumbled through her dizziness.

“A porcelain doll like you?” Martha chuckled, kindly.

“My father had horses.” She smiled, slowly, her memories soft and mellow. “He sold them. During the gold rush.”

David whistled. “Well, that probably paid more than panning in a river. But, Mrs.S, I got to warn you. Swainsburg is boring .”

Boring. Victoria would enjoy being bored.

Martha fussed with the bedspread. “You would need to leave early tomorrow. That’s five days in a cart. Do you think you can manage?”

“I just want to leave,” she breathed.

“I can arrange something, at the back,” said David. “With some straw and a big blanket, like a nice little nest.”

“I’m leaving you the bottle of syrup,” said Martha. “Because this won’t be easy.”

*

Victoria did not feel any better the next morning. Martha had found her some clothes: a rough skirt, a man’s button-up shirt and a misshapen straw hat. She made a sling for Victoria’s arm, and immobilized it all against her chest with a belt.

David and Martha’s husband helped her climb into the covered wagon. There was indeed a spot for her between the crates and barrels. She let herself fall back on the rough hay covered in even rougher blankets, her whole body screaming.

Martha brought the wedding dress and pulled it inside with great effort. She folded it to the best of her ability, and pillowed Victoria’s head on the petticoats.

“I should leave it here,” mumbled Victoria.

It would be the reasonable thing to do , she thought. There was still time to remove all the jewelry hidden in the seams and travel light. But then, it was also a gift from her father, and in this moment of great vulnerability, she missed him like she had when the grief was still fresh.

“What are you talking about, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my life,” chuckled Martha. “I could commit a murder for a dress like this.”

“Do you want it?” Please say no , thought Victoria.

Martha snorted. “Mrs.Stanton, what would I do with a dress like that? I’m already married!” She raised the bottle of syrup to Victoria’s lips. “Here, a sip or two, no more.”

Victoria drank with a grimace, the effect immediately going to her head. She tried to stay awake and grabbed Martha’s arm.

“Please grab some jewels from the seams, I need to thank you,” things were quickly becoming blurry. “Please.”

Martha pressed her lips and gave it some serious consideration, before shaking her head. “You’re going to need it more than we do. Don’t worry about thanking me, I didn’t do much.”

You gave me hope , Victoria thought furiously, trying to focus on Martha’s big dark eyes. For three years, I hoped. The words got caught in her throat before she could articulate them.

Martha was tucking the bottle of syrup, not looking at her anymore. “I’m leaving it right here, next to your good hand. Drink when it hurts, but not too much. You’ll be alright, my cousin Simone can help you get back on your feet.” She patted Victoria’s head; a bit awkward. “Take care of yourself.”

Victoria blinked, and Martha was gone. She sensed the wagon move, and then felt nothing at all.