Page 29 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

The air was getting colder. Victoria had taken the opportunity to wear her heavier dresses and her new coat trimmed with fur. It was a bit excessive, in this minuscule town, but she liked the feeling of power it gave her. She drew the line at smoking cigars, though. She had tried it once and regretted it immediately. Natane had to air the house, and it had taken three days to bring it back to her preferred temperature.

While her beloved was busy at the municipal stables, Victoria made the rounds.

The construction of the new brothel was over. It was bigger, with more rooms, and could double as an inn. She had learned early in the game that some men were ready to pay a prostitute just to be able to spend the night in a bed. So she ordered feather mattresses and kept a couple of rooms in hand for the discerning cowboy in need of comfort.

There were no girls working at the moment. Belle Porter said she would ship some her way, but with the incoming winter, it would be foolish to send them up during the empty season. The downstairs bar had reopened, though, and was manned by Consuelo and Siobhan, who made it clear to their clients that their services now stopped at pouring them drinks. Consuelo’s regulars were heartbroken.

The time of ruffles and cancan was over. Victoria felt nostalgic, but she had to admit that life was more comfortable now. They did not need to work themselves raw for every penny. Consuelo seemed happy, spending half of her time with Paul; and Siobhan had bloomed since Victoria had named her accountant for all her businesses. The girl could do magic with numbers.

The saloon was almost done. The bar was bigger than the one they had in the brothel, with more space for tables and a stage. The piano had been moved and tuned once again. Victoria played most days, letting anyone in town sit and listen. She would still put on a show once in a while, because the people of Swainsburg loved a good evening out and were always happy to spend ten cents, or even fifteen, to get a good chair.

She reached the intersection and checked out the new water pump. It was all shiny and worked like a charm. She already had plans to install more at the other ends of town, and maybe in some farms if it was feasible. She kept it secret for the moment, but she had been inquiring about the possibility of indoor plumbing. The materials were getting cheaper by the week since it was not a rich people fancy anymore.

Imagine , she chuckled to herself. To take a bath indoors, again .

Townspeople walked by, greeting her. Paul waved from inside the smithy, the banker nodded from his window. Deputy Rogers, now Sheriff, tipped his hat from his porch. She smiled back, making plans to get him replaced soon. She was still bitter about him letting Earl out of jail. She would find someone who would be loyal to her money.

Sometimes, when taking care of Swainsburg became too overwhelming, she went to Sheriff Buckley’s grave, sat down, and drank to his memory.

Victoria was headed for the stables when a galloping noise made her turn around.

A group of four young cowboys entered the town, making their way up the main street to stop in front of her. “Good day, Mrs.Victoria!” said the first one, dismounting. “You look as lovely as the flower fields near the Ferris Mountains.”

“It’s still no, Benjamin,” she smiled.

“I will convince you someday!” he laughed. “So, the Wells Fargo driver was right, there are traces of a campfire near the road, where the cliffs start. There’s someone hiding in there.”

She frowned. “Any details?”

“They can’t be more than two or three,” said another one of the young men. “Don’t worry, Mrs.Victoria, we’ll get rid of them for you.”

“I would be very grateful.” She smiled at them, radiant. Benjamin Smalls, the poor thing, actually blushed.

“Always a pleasure working for you, you know.”

“Your help has been invaluable. The roads have been safer since you started patrolling. I know it’s a lot, but when the Shoshone tribe comes back for the summer, they’ll take care of the Northern part. You won’t be as overworked.”

“Are you joking?” asked a third cowboy. “You pay us double than we used to make herding sheep, for half the work. It’s a dream, working for you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Say, are you gentlemen free, Saturday, in two weeks? It’s a church weekend and I need a security detail for the saloon’s official opening.”

“We’ll be there,” grinned Benjamin Smalls.

She smiled at him like one would smile at an overeager puppy. They were all so ready to murder in her name, it was adorable.

December

The barn was lit with rows of paper lanterns, giving it a soft hue. The band, hired by Victoria, had switched to slower songs now that the crowd had thinned, headed either to sleep or to the new saloon across the street. Victoria had also hired a full team of barkeeps for the evening, to give her girls the chance to enjoy Christmas.

She spotted them talking near the evergreens. Siobhan waved and went back to her discussion with Paul. He looked more comfortable arguing with her than he had been all night making small chat with the townspeople who now were making an effort to include him.

Consuelo left them and draped herself over Victoria’s shoulders, a bit tipsy, her weight almost making them both fall over.

“You’re having fun, I see,” smiled Victoria.

“Never had fun at Christmas,” she slurred happily. “It’s nice. I like the music.”

“Have you danced?”

“No. Paul doesn’t like it and Siobhan gets bored. Do you want to?”

Victoria looked at the handful of townspeople left, paired up, swaying to the softer songs. Mrs.Horowitz and her husband, a bit too enthusiastic for the melody, were taking most of the space. Mrs.Jackson and Mrs.Zhao were arguing under their breath about who should lead.

She took Consuelo’s hand and pulled her to the dance floor.

Several songs later, Consuelo asked for a break and went to get something to eat from the side tables. Victoria was not alone for long. A tall shape appeared at her side, silent and beloved.

Natane cut a striking figure in her new clothes. It was customary to wear black for two years after a husband’s death, but in all practicality, she simply did not have anything else to wear. Victoria had provided her with the softest fabrics she could find, and Natane had been experimenting with colour, taking a liking to the bold ones. Victoria’s favourite was the sunshine yellow that made her skin glow.

It was still impossible to get her to wear dresses, though. A fitted shirt, a clean skirt over buckskin pants and polished boots were all the concessions she allowed for special occasions. That night she had even pulled some of her hair back with a beautiful beaded barrette in the shape of a daffodil, made by her mother.

Victoria’s heart fluttered, as it still did every time, always surprised by the existence of Natane.

“My darling, you are a vision,” she whispered.

“And you look like an angel,” she whispered back. “You’re all pale and glowing.”

Victoria fixed her hair, smiling coquettishly. She had made an effort, with a silk blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons and a delicate lace ruffle running from shoulder to shoulder. She liked how Natane would run her hands over the fabric when they were at home.

“Are you here to dance with me?” she asked.

Natane looked around, at Mrs.Jackson and Mrs.Zhao, and all the other women paired up since their husbands were either out of town or at the saloon. Her shoulders lost some tension. “Yes, I am. Will you dance with me?”

Victoria tried to teach her the waltz. It was a complete failure, and they ended up crashing into the Horowitzes.

A couple of songs later, the band took a break. There was only a guitar player left, who strummed a soft melody. Victoria watched the people around them, even the paired-up women, get closer and sway to the rhythm. Feeling bold, she placed a hand on Natane’s hip and took her hand, delicately.

“This should be easier.”

Slowly, they swayed to the music, in each other’s arms. Hiding in plain sight.

January

Natane had declared that it was too cold to leave the bed. The coal furnace they had managed to fit in the bedroom was barely enough to fight the winter winds, let alone keep everything at her favoured temperature. Victoria, exceptionally, had allowed the dogs on the bed with them. Feo and Guapo usually slept in the living room out of respect for their old bones, but she drew the line at getting dog hair on her linen sheets.

Victoria sipped more tea and snuggled happily against the pillows, putting her cold toes under Feo, who was happy to be an oversized foot heater. With a good book, a nice cup, two adorable dogs to warm her, and a beautiful woman slumbering at her side, there was no reason to go outside.

The front door slammed and made them all jump. A long stream of Irish curses resonated in the calm house, followed by the sound of two heavy boots hitting the floor, then a fur coat, and what was probably the knitted scarf, mittens and hat Consuelo had gifted her at Christmas.

Siobhan entered the room, letting a rush of cold air in, and closed the door immediately. She pushed the dogs away so she could crawl under the covers and ball up against Victoria.

“Cold,” she mumbled.

“Indeed. I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“Consuelo’s at the blacksmith’s.”

“He does have a name.”

“Paul-the-blacksmith. I was bored.”

Victoria cuddled her closer and rubbed her arm. A greeting sound came from under the covers, where only Natane’s top of head was visible. They all rearranged themselves, three women and two large dogs, in a bed that could barely fit them. The room quickly became warmer.

“She’s spending a lot of nights at his place,” mused Victoria, turning a page. “I fear I have been remiss in my duties as a chaperone.”

“Victoria, she was a whore. She literally worked for you.”

“We wouldn’t want her reputation to suffer.”

“She spanked half of Wyoming.”

Victoria tutted and turned another page.

“What are you reading?”

“Shakespeare. We never did that show, in the end.”

“Donkey head burned in the fire.”

“Such a shame. But I was thinking of something more… romantic.”

“Ew.”

“Hush. It’s a comedy of misunderstandings. About a young woman who has to dress up as a man to survive in a strange land, which creates the most convoluted love triangle.”

“She gets to wear pants?”

“She does. Do you want me to read aloud?”

“Yes. Do the voices.”

The coldest day of winter went by slowly. Victoria felt warmer than she had ever felt.

February

“MAIL!” yelled Consuelo, marching in the new brothel, shaking an envelope over her head. “Mail!”

Victoria and Siobhan, working the accounts at the bar, jumped as one. Consuelo dropped her coat and things on the nearest upholstered armchair. They had furnished this brothel in a more luxurious fashion, with heavy curtains, nice wallpaper, and plushy furniture. Victoria hoped to attract the officers with deep pockets from Fort Laramie.

“Is it from her?” asked Siobhan, grasping the letter. “Yes, look! It’s got a weird stamp! It’s from France!”

They crowded around her while she opened the envelope with little care. “You could have kept the stamp,” mumbled Victoria.

A photograph fell out. Consuelo grabbed it, and they stared. They were now familiar with photographs, and had even taken many with Victoria’s new daguerreotype camera.

Lisette and David, dressed to the nines in Paris’ latest fashion, stood side by side, holding hands. Their faces were impassive, as were most photographs, but there was something special in seeing them hold hands like this, openly.

“What does the letter say?” asked Consuelo.

Victoria took the delicate, and apparently perfumed, sheets. “ My dear friends ,” she started. “ I have fallen in love. I have fallen in love with Paris, with its people, its culture, and its freedom .”

“What a sentimental twit,” commented Siobhan with affection.

The letter said a lot. Lisette was effusive about their little apartment in the busy streets of Montmartre, with its bedroom smaller than a shoebox. They could see the roofs of Paris from her window. She worked as a cancan dancer, and David as a handyman at the same small cabaret.

“ It’s not the Folies Trévise,” read Victoria with a smile, “ but it’s a step towards it. Do you know, they call me the American, over there? They insist that I speak with an exaggerated accent, and can never decide if they want me to sound New Yorker or Texan.”

Lisette told them about the fashion and art, of her new friends. But, mostly, how much she missed them, and how she wished she could share all of this with them.

Maybe , thought Victoria, reading. It was an idea .

March

Victoria raised her head from the stove when she heard the door. “Dearest, is that you?”

When she did not get an answer, she set the food to simmer and went to the bedroom. Natane was curled up on the bed, facing the wall.

Victoria bit her lower lip. She had been expecting this.

“Darling?” she asked, stepping in. “Can I lie down with you?”

Natane grunted. Victoria took off her house shoes and stretched down without touching her, and waited. After a long silence, Natane hid her face in the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” she said, miserable.

“Why are you sorry, my love?”

“I can’t do it. I can’t, Victoria. Please don’t make me do it.”

Victoria opened her arms and Natane crawled in, hiding her face against her bosom. “I had the feeling something was wrong; you’ve been so anxious. Can you tell me what this is about?”

Natane shook.

“Is this about the school?”

Natane made a sound like a wounded animal. “I tried! I did my best! But I can’t do it anymore!”

“No one will make you do it, my love. You can stop anytime.”

“But I wanted to! I wanted to do good, and help you.”

“I can hire a school teacher.”

“I thought I could do it,” she sobbed. “I like teaching them. They’re so smart, and they learn so fast.”

“But it’s hurting you.”

Natane nodded. “I keep thinking about the nuns,” she whispered. “I close my eyes and I’m back there. I’m hungry, and cold, and sad. I miss my friends.” A broken whimper. “They got sick, and they died, one after the other. The nuns buried them behind the school.”

Victoria held her tighter. Natane never talked about that part of her life.

“They didn’t even get tombstones, but I knew they were there. I remember thinking… that it was so unfair. That I should die too. I was sad, and so… so jealous! They got to leave that place.”

She sobbed louder. Victoria whispered soft nothings in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” said Natane again, her voice trembling.

“You don’t need to be. You don’t have to return to the school. I’ll find a new schoolteacher; the kids will be back there in a matter of weeks.”

“But it’s so much trouble for you.”

She took Natane’s face between her hands. “Nothing is too much trouble for me when you’re concerned. This? Everything I’m doing? Has no meaning if not for your happiness.”

“But I’m doing nothing, I feel like a burden…”

“Natane, I would gladly ensure you live a life of indolence and leisure if it’s something you would want.”

Natane hid her face again. “I don’t want to do nothing.”

“Then we’ll find you something you love. You don’t need to torture yourself.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” she mumbled.

“We’ll put a hammer and a chisel in your hands and see what you come up with,” smiled Victoria.

She could feel Natane’s smile against her breast. “Alright.”

Victoria held her as long as she needed to be held, keeping her rage inside of herself, and offering only compassion.