Page 5 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 5

Mrs.Jackson and Mrs.Zhao

Victoria awoke sixteen hours later, sweaty, exhausted, and in pain. She had forgotten to bind her arm in place for the night, and now it ached with renewed fury.

From the other side of the wall near her head came the clanking of pots and pans, accompanied with soft conversation. She could not understand the words, but she could easily pick out Lisette’s accent and Consuelo’s blunt tones.

Even though the girls had been a delight, Victoria did not feel like facing them. She wanted to stay in that minuscule room and wallow in her misery for a day or twelve.

Ignoring her pain, hunger and full bladder, she laid there staring at the ceiling, and thought of Henry. Her guilt was a gnawing maw, eating every part of her, and she fed it whatever was left. What kind of mother would throw away the chance of seeing her son again? She wondered with bitterness.

The blunt call of reality eventually pulled her from the bed. She needed to use the outhouse.

She grabbed the wet towel and scrubbed herself thoroughly. Her underthings smelled after wearing them for a week; sadly she would have to suffer until she could wash them. She barely managed to put back her skirt and button-up shirt with her one good arm, and came to tears when she could not tie the ribbons of her stockings. Her hair was worse. She brushed it furiously and had no choice but to let it fall on her shoulders, unkempt, unbraided, like a common whore.

A sigh. She was being discourteous to these young women.

She joined them in the kitchen. Consuelo and Lisette seemed glad to see her up, and Siobhan simply opened the back door with her foot. “Shitter’s that way.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Even though Victoria had travelled several days in this territory, she was still surprised with the flatness of the land. There was only the ground, the sky, and the outhouse.

She closed her eyes and relished the feel of the wind in her hair.

On her way back, she washed her hands in a barrel of rainwater and peered curiously around. The backyards of the neighbouring houses looked like tiny farms, with chicken coops and vegetable gardens. The brothel seemed barren compared to them, with only a clothesline and an empty metal bathtub raised on bricks.

“We could fill it up,” said Consuelo from the door. “With the rainwater, we would only need a couple of buckets from the town’s pump and you could have a decent bath. It takes a while to warm up, though.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m alright,” lied Victoria. A bath sounded heavenly. “Do you go through all this trouble every time?”

She shrugged. “We only bother on church weekends. Don’t want to bring all that sin in the house of God. Well, the barn of God.”

Siobhan called from the main room. “No amount of scrubbing can wash away your sins!”

“We commit the same sins!”

“Nuh-huh. What I do is lay there and wait for them to be done. What you do involves rope and whips. I even saw a saddle in there!”

“They pay extra,” explained Consuelo, directing Victoria to a chair and piling too much food on her plate. “Anyway, a sin is a sin and we can only be absolved if we confess and repent.”

“Do you honestly confess the torture stuff?” asked Siobhan.

“I don’t go into details! The Lord already knows I’m a whore, there’s no need to explain my techniques to the priest!”

“We’ll ask him next church weekend.”

Lisette placed a cup of tea in front of Victoria. “Please forgive them, they’re Catholics.”

“You are too!” threw Siobhan.

“I am French .”

“Girl, you’re from New York!”

“My mother was French!”

It soon devolved into petty bickering. Victoria attempted to follow but she seemed to be missing years of context.

“Don’t try, even I can’t keep up,” waved Consuelo, taking a chair. “Come on, finish that and then you can go to Mrs.Zhao’s. I already talked to her.”

Victoria froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. The idea of meeting someone else, of having to leave this safe place, was suddenly very unnerving.

Consuelo went on. “You need something to wear while we wash all this. Mrs.Zhao’s the town’s seamstress. Well, officially, laundress, if the law asks. She lives right in front, next to Simone. I mean, Mrs.Jackson. The righteous bitch you met yesterday.”

Victoria ate in silence, trying to push back the moment she would have to step out the door.

It came too soon, and sadly none of the girls offered to accompany her. They were all busy, Victoria chided herself. She was a grown woman; she should not need a chaperone to walk twenty steps.

To Victoria, who had spent the last thirty years in an expanding metropolis, the town of Swainsburg felt empty. But, from the open door of the brothel, she could see people talking on their porches, around the water pump, near the bank and the sheriff office. Heads turned her way.

Victoria grabbed the door frame. She could not move.

Something was wrong with her, she thought, panicking. She had left the manor, she was out of her husband’s reach, these people had been nothing but kind to her. There was no excuse to be afraid.

Right there, across the street, was Mrs.Jackson’s house. The woman waved from her porch. There was a Chinese woman smoking next to her. They both appeared harmless enough. Still, this was terrifying, for no apparent reason.

But Victoria was used to fear.

A step on the porch. Breathe in. Another, and she was out of the building. Breathe out. Three more and she was in the street.

She ignored the onlookers and erased all emotion from her face. The mask was familiar, almost unbreakable. She had survived the high society of Salt Lake City with that mask, she had survived her husband. She could meet a few more townspeople.

“Good afternoon,” she smiled, politely. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs.Jackson.”

“Didn’t I tell you she was fancy?” threw Simone to the other woman. “It’s so refreshing to see some nice manners in this mud hole.”

“You’re forgetting yours,” remarked the Chinese woman, sardonically. “Hey. I’m Hualing.”

She was smaller than Victoria, but there was something calculated in her nonchalance, as if she was waiting to pounce. Her clothes were practical, sleeves rolled up her arms and skirt stained with bleach.

When she turned towards her, Victoria saw her face clearly. The skin on the left side, from her neck to her cheek, was scarred in gruesome pink and white.

“Acid,” she grinned, her smile dangerous around the cigarette. “And yours?”

Victoria pulled a self-conscious hand to her tender bruise. “I fell down the stairs.”

“Those stairs have a name?”

Mrs.Jackson swatted her arm. “Give the poor woman a break. She survived five days with only David’s chatter for company and now she had to sleep in that den of sin.” She frowned at the brothel. “Did they treat you right? Or did they try to enlist you?”

“They were absolutely lovely, all three of them. And no, they did not. I honestly doubt anyone would want an old bird like me.”

Mrs.Zhao eyed her. “You’d be surprised. Look at you, all blonde, fancy and pale-skinned. I’m just saying, you can make good money next church weekend, just with those pretty blue eyes.”

The thought of opening her bed to anyone, let alone a stranger, was so revolting, so terrifying, that Victoria had to stop herself from throwing up.

“Hualing, enough,” snapped Mrs.Jackson.

Mrs.Zhao raised her hands in apology. “Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up. Anyway, you’re probably not here for the conversation. Ramirez told me you need underwear?”

It was surreal, to be talking of prostitution and undergarments in the clear light of day, where anyone could hear. “Indeed.”

“Hm, I should have a couple of things your size.” She left without another word.

“I swear she’s a nice woman,” sighed Mrs.Jackson. “But seriously, how are you? David told me a bit about what happened to you.”

“How is the darling boy?” she muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Mrs.Jackson huffed. “Darling boy, that’s a good one. That menace is out by the creek with James, both getting into horrible trouble. Separately, they’re manageable, but together they just forget to use their brains. I’m wondering if this time they’ll come back covered in bee stings or reeking of skunk.”

“I was under the impression David was an adult?”

“He is!” she threw her arms in the air. “You’d expect the eldest to have some sense, but no. God took the smartest brain and put it in the dumbest boy, I swear. He’s responsible for all my grey hairs.” She placed her hands on her hips and, once again, glared at the brothel.

Mrs.Zhao’s voice came from next door. “Oy, what are you waiting for? I don’t have all day!”

“Go,” waved Mrs.Jackson. “I have to feed the little ones. Come around for tea when you feel better.”

It was then, in the short moment after Mrs.Jackson had entered her house and before Victoria had reached Mrs.Zhao’s, that the door from the General Store, right down the street, opened. Out stepped the widow Díaz.

Victoria had honestly forgotten her existence. The widow seemed even taller and more graceful up close. And when she turned around, her gaze, once again, rooted her to the spot.

They stared at each other for an awkward number of seconds. Victoria broke the moment with a tiny wave, and the widow tipped the brim of her hat.

“Mei!” shouted Mrs.Zhao from her store. “Get down here and help!”

That was enough to shatter the spell. The widow, with a last lingering look, turned to her wagon and left Victoria standing there, feeling very silly.

“Are you coming?” barked Mrs.Zhao.

With a last glance at the widow’s retreating back, Victoria entered.

The interior was cramped and smelled strongly of cleaning products. Boxes and crates were piled haphazardly between tall chests of drawers. Rolls and rolls of fabric filled an entire wall of shelves, clothes of all kinds hung from the stair’s handrail. The only free space was a large table right in the middle of the chaos.

“Sorry about the stench,” waved Mrs.Zhao. “You get used to it.” She turned towards the open back door. “MEI! Last time! Come work!”

“I am working!” came a petulant voice. A teenage girl, no older than thirteen, stomped in. She was like a younger copy of her mother, from the long, braided hair to the sarcastic expression. “I was hanging the last batch on the clothesline. You always leave them too long in the bleach, and then they stink forever!”

“They stank worse before. Get me a measuring tape, we’ve got a new customer. You,” she kicked a small step stool towards Victoria, “up.”

Victoria let herself be measured, while the mother and daughter’s quarrel devolved into rapid-fire Chinese. Once in a while, Mrs.Zhao ordered Victoria to move this way or that, but that was the extent of it.

The argument came to a culmination when Mrs.Zhao snapped and took both the measuring tape and notebook from her daughter’s hands and pointed to the back door. Mei left in a huff.

“Children,” grimaced Mrs.Zhao. “You have one like that?”

Victoria’s heart twisted. “Not like that.”

“Lucky you. Here, just move your arm—”

She pulled, and Victoria yelled in pain. “Oh shit, sorry,” blurted Mrs.Zhao. “Didn’t mean to do that. You alright?”

Victoria nodded, cradling her arm, blinking the tears away.

Mrs.Zhao, for the first time, seemed to lose her annoyance. “I’m really sorry. You can step down, I got everything I need anyway. Just sit there. I’ll be right back.”

Victoria had plenty of time to compose herself. Mrs.Zhao came back downstairs with a metal kettle. “Here, I got something for that.” She pulled out a clay teapot and matching little cups from a drawer, and a box with a strong smell. “Old Chinese tea, worked for millennia. This one isn’t the best, but it will deal with the pain.”

Victoria made a face. “How powerful is it? I took some dubious cough syrup on the way here, and it made me sufficiently dizzy to wish I was still in pain.”

“Oh yeah, no, it’s not opium. Or laudanum, or anything like that, if that’s what you’re asking,” she grimaced. “I’ve been staying far from that stuff. Swainsburg far.”

“Oh?” Victoria politely glossed over the implications. “Did you live elsewhere before this?”

“Of course, how many Chinese women have you met before? In Wyoming ?”

“You know, I think you’re the first. I’ve seen men, though.”

“You and everybody’s mother. They’re in every single town, working in construction, in the mines, on the railway. They’re everywhere.” A beat. “Except in Swainsburg.”

She put the tea to steep and simply looked at Victoria’s arm and the bruise on her face. “If it helps, you don’t really need to feel awkward in this town. People end here when they run from somewhere else. Most of us have an ugly story behind us.”

She rummaged through another drawer and took out a mail-order catalogue. Its pages were yellowed and crumpled. “There’s a new one, from last month, but I think Deborah Horowitz has it right now. It’ll be a while before she comes back to town, so this will have to do. I’m sorry in advance if you end up wearing bloomers in last year’s fashion.”

While Mrs.Zhao served the tea, Victoria turned the pages. They were covered in tiny ink renditions of tools, accessories, silverware, everything from baby carriages to rifles.

“Do they deliver, here?”

“Not often enough, that’s what Simone’s boy is for. Most of it we can get from Rock Springs, but once in a while he’ll go down to Salt Lake. See if you need anything specific. For now, I can find you the basic stuff, maybe fit a shirt before the church weekend rush.”

While Victoria studied the catalogue, Mrs.Zhao scavenged her chests and came back with a pile of clothes. “There. Shirt, vest, skirt, bloomers, chemise, stockings and wool socks. Clothes so old the clients didn’t want them back, even clean. Probably to your size. I don’t have shoes, though.”

“These ones are good.” Martha had found her work boots, a size too small. “Oh, I used to have a pair just like this,” she pointed at an illustration.

Mrs.Zhao looked at the small-heeled evening pumps and whistled in admiration. “I love a good shoe. Alright, we can be friends, if you tell me all about the fine things you used to wear.”

“I brought my wedding dress, if you want to see it.”

“Yeah, I caught a glimpse of that beauty. But that’s for later. Drink your tea and tell me more about those shoes.”

The talk was stilted, at first, but Victoria soon got used to Mrs.Zhao’s manners and learned to roll with it. The pain in her arm slowly receded to manageable levels.

Eventually, Victoria had to leave. She hesitated at the doorstep, still sensing eyes on her, but the anxiety was not as overwhelming.

She did feel a twinge of disappointment when she did not find the widow Díaz and her wagon. She squinted at the horizon, trying to locate her farm.

The girls were happy to see her back, and Victoria allowed herself to bask in that warmth. She had a safe place to stay, kind people who welcomed her, and even clean clothes to change into.

Consuelo passed her head through the kitchen door. “Hey, you’re back. I know you said not to, but the bathtub is full and warm.”

“Because you stink!” came Siobhan’s voice from the back.

“I’m next!” shouted Lisette from upstairs. She leaned over the railing. “But take all the time you need, Victoria, of course, I don’t want to rush you. You can borrow my lavender soap!”

Victoria experienced, for the first time in many, many years, that feeling you get when you finally step home after a long day.