Page 8 of Mrs. Victoria Buys A Brothel

C hapter 8

Mass

The following days were among the most exhausting Victoria had ever lived. Every night the last customers, for both the bar and the girls alike, left around two in the morning. At one point, Victoria even woke up at noon, which had always sounded to her like the epitome of laziness.

Saturday had been their biggest night. The crowd was rowdy and even fun, now that Victoria was used to them. She found she liked chatting with people. They seemed charmed enough, if she could believe their many, many compliments. By the end of the weekend, she was able to run the floor by herself and leave the girls to their dance cards.

Natane’s presence helped. Every night, she sat at the end of the bar, a quiet vigil, nursing her only glass of the evening. At first, Victoria felt bad for not talking to her more, but she quickly learned that Natane did not mind sitting there in silence, simply watching the crowd. And her. Victoria constantly felt her dark eyes following her. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

Sunday morning started too early, with Consuelo knocking at her door.

“Up, up! The water’s warm, you want to get there before Lisette!”

Victoria rose groggily and made her way across the empty floor in her nightgown.

Consuelo was already at the stove, overseeing three different pots. Her smile was a bit manic.

Victoria hesitated. “Everything alright, pumpkin?”

“Oh yes, don’t worry, I just haven’t slept. It happens. Now, taste this, tell me if I need to season it a little more.”

She practically forced a wooden spoon in Victoria’s mouth. The sauce was delicious and very, very spicy.

Victoria blinked back tears. “It’s perfect.”

“You think? Hm, it still feels too bland,” she muttered, adding a generous dose of hot sauce.

Victoria left her to her hellfire and stepped out in the morning sun. There were big sheets hanging from the clotheslines, granting some privacy to the bathtub. The coals underneath were still smoking.

Siobhan was inside, brushing furiously at her skin. “Don’t talk to Consuelo when she gets like this,” she said as a greeting. “She’ll make you clean stuff. I’m almost done, just give me a moment.”

She dipped her hair in the water one last time, and got out of the tub, all freckles and gangly limbs. Victoria immediately adverted her gaze.

“Honey, don’t you have any modesty left?”

“Nope. Half of Wyoming has seen me naked. Anyway, you’re a woman, it’s not like you care.”

Victoria frowned, still staring at the horizon. There was something wrong with that statement. Not in the wording, but in the way it resonated inside her.

“Alright, I’m decent,” said Siobhan once she’d put on her clean undergarments. “Good idea, getting in here before Lisette, she’s intense about her hair.”

She left. Victoria had spent enough time in Swainsburg to appreciate a warm bath for the luxury it was. It was still unnerving to disrobe outside, though. There was only a bedsheet separating her from the camp and cattle a mile away.

She tried not to look at her own naked body. After catching a glimpse of a fit woman in her twenties, she felt even more self-conscious. New wrinkles, old skin, same flabby parts.

The embers were still warm, but the water was quickly getting colder. Victoria gritted her teeth and washed in a record time. She was putting her nightgown back when Lisette burst out of the kitchen door, her tin of personal grooming items clutched to her chest.

“Why did no one wake me? I won’t have enough time to do my hair!”

Victoria went back inside before she could undress, not used yet to the girls’ utter lack of modesty. She managed to avoid Consuelo’s attempts to make her taste the sauce again, the smell alone making her eyes water.

Mrs.Zhao had brought her new clothes the day prior, and they had been waiting for her, neatly hung on a nail.

Victoria put on the cotton bloomers, chemise, soft corset, and light petticoat. The stockings were wool instead of silk and the shoes were made of worn, supple leather. The dress was cream-coloured with a soft pattern of flowers and a row of cute buttons at the front. She liked the tiny frill that ran from shoulder to shoulder. She topped it with a simple bonnet adorned with a white ribbon. She did feel a bit naked, without her pearls and gloves, but this was a new life. She was clean and proper, and that would have to be enough.

She met the girls at the bar. Lisette looked lovely as usual, her hair in perfect ringlets. Consuelo had buttoned her blouse up to the neck. Siobhan, though, seemed like a completely new person, in her impeccable dress and her wild mane tied in a bun.

“What,” she said, feeling Victoria’s eyes on her. “It’s church .”

“She went to school with nuns,” whispered Lisette.

Victoria was suddenly reminded of Natane and her casual comment about nuns. She wondered if Natane would come to mass.

“Alright,” said Consuelo, putting on her hat, “I left everything simmering. It should be ready for this afternoon. This time, Simone will see what a real chili should taste like.”

“Pride is a sin,” muttered Siobhan.

“Her cooking is a sin!”

“We should go,” said Lisette, pushing them towards the door. “We want good places. The priest spits,” she added, for Victoria’s sake.

Outside, people were slowly strolling up the main street, dressed in their best. Further up, Mrs.Jackson and her husband, home for the weekend, were wrangling their two youngest kids; Mrs.Zhao and Mei, both resplendent in shirts of red Chinese brocade, were arguing in whispers.

It was nice to spot friendly faces among the strangers. The Smiths greeted her; Paul waved at them shyly. James watched them pass by from the porch, he was not joining the rest of the crowd. Even the banker nodded at her.

The cowboys raised their hats when she walked by. The same men who were drunk and rowdy in her bar the night before were now sedately walking towards church.

The whole village was gathered in front of the barn. She felt their stares, but none dared approach them, except Mrs.Jackson and Mrs.Zhao.

“Someone’s the talk of the town,” said Mrs.Zhao. “I haven’t been able to buy a bag of flour without hearing about you.”

“Not all good,” said Mrs.Jackson, fanning herself. “But not all bad, either. Did that man really break your arm?”

“Break? Of course not, he merely pulled on it,” she put a hand on her shoulder, self-consciously. “The matter was swiftly resolved, thanks to Consuelo’s quick thinking.”

“Yeah, I heard she beat a whole room of rowdy cowboys into submission with a riding crop,” laughed Mrs.Zhao.

Consuelo’s answer was interrupted by Mrs.Jackson’s scoff. “I’m not surprised you hold sway with so many men, with your immoral ways. How dare you come to church, filthy sinner?”

“I came to see your husband, heard he was in town,” she sneered back. “How’s good old George, still handsome?”

Mrs.Jackson’s pretty face contorted in a grimace of fury. “You keep your dirty paws off my family, you wench! If I ever see you around my husband, I’ll— I’ll—”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” said Mrs.Zhao, pulling her back. “We don’t want a repeat of last summer.”

“Are you kidding?” muttered Siobhan. “They’d love it.”

The townspeople were all staring at them.

Victoria put a hand on Consuelo’s arm. “Would you find us good seats, pumpkin?”

Consuelo huffed and left for the barn without looking at anyone else, Siobhan and Lisette trailing after her. They were given a wide berth.

“Simone, I don’t think that was necessary,” chided Victoria.

“Ha, it’s been going on for years,” scoffed Mrs.Zhao. “I’m waiting for the day they just start throwing rocks across the street.”

“Truly? I don’t understand, Simone. Both you and Consuelo are smart and strong-willed, one would expect you to be better friends.”

Mrs.Jackson sneered. “You must be joking. As if I could ever befriend such a crass trollop.”

“Simone, please,” said Victoria. “I swear to you, she’s a darling.”

Mrs.Jackson sighed, annoyed. “Victoria, stay out of this.”

Victoria pressed on. “But you let James work for us! Surely there must be some way to compromise?”

“That is the compromise. We can’t afford to turn away work. James is allowed because everyone thinks he’s a child. They would not be so kind to any other man in my family if they were seen behind those doors.” She rearranged her flower hat. “This is the Lord’s day, could we talk of something else?”

“Here’s some talking headed our way,” muttered Mrs.Zhao. “Hi, Deborah!”

A middle-aged woman, tall, thin and with a generous head of curls, was striding towards them. “Good morning, ladies! I’m so glad I caught you before mass, I absolutely need to know more about those rumours I keep hearing! Oh, hello! You must be the mysterious Mrs.Victoria everyone is gossiping about! I’m Deborah Horowitz, it’s a joy to finally meet you.” She shook Victoria’s hand with energy. “We own a farm, an hour in that direction, it’s a hassle just coming here, but I’d love to have you for dinner, we could chat a bit. People tell me you’re from Salt Lake City?”

Victoria took a moment to answer, unsure if it was her turn. “Um, yes.”

“Is it everything they say?” she asked, stars in her eyes.

“What do they say?”

“That it’s the big city! Large streets of paved stone! Beautiful houses! So many people you wouldn’t be able to meet them all in a lifetime! Too many stores to shop from!”

“…In some areas, yes. Our neighbourhood was close to the Temple, we did benefit from everything you just named. Though a good part of the city is under construction, it is constantly growing.”

“All the Mormons,” whispered Mrs.Zhao.

“How interesting!” said Mrs.Horowitz, completely sincere. “Oh, I want to hear all about it!” She turned and waved to someone. “Mathilda! Come over, you have to meet her!”

“I have met Mrs.Smith,” tried Victoria.

Mrs.Smith from the general store approached and, with her, several other women. Victoria suddenly found herself surrounded.

“Hi,” said old Mrs.Smith. “Nice to see you again. So, how was the weekend? Do you need me to order more beer?”

Victoria was about to answer, but another woman interrupted her. “Is it true that you bought the whorehouse?”

“Ah, yes, I did. Good morning, it’s a pleasure to—”

“Are you a madam, then?” asked another one. “Are you going to bring more prostitutes to our town?”

“Three is more than enough,” scoffed someone.

Some of them started talking between them, stating their opinion without lowering their voices. Victoria found herself overwhelmed by the chatter. She tried to catch Mrs.Jackson’s and Mrs.Zhao’s eyes for help, but they had stepped back and were waiting in silence, their expressions closed off.

Oh, Victoria thought, of course they could not intervene. In a spike of clarity, she saw the precarious place her friends held in town. Any faux-pas could jeopardize their status.

Frantically, she scanned the chattering crowd and spotted something orange. An elderly woman, mostly dressed in muted colors, wore an outrageous hat topped with silk flowers.

“What a delightful hat!” she gasped.

The woman was surprised to have everyone’s attention on her all of a sudden. “Oh, thank you. It’s from Rock Springs,” she said. “You can’t get it by catalogue, my husband had to go himself.”

Victoria went on, her courage coming back. “What a find! This colour is practically impossible to procure nowadays, not in such a deep, bright hue! It’s all the rage among the young people of the upper crust, in the big city.”

It was a lie. The colour had been a very short, very intense phase a handful of years prior, to be deemed tacky as soon as the fabric became too affordable. But the women of Swainsburg did not need to know that.

“It is?” asked the lady, flushing with pride.

“Oh, believe me, this season’s soirées were an ode to the colour. Dresses in apricot, amber, tangerine, it was as if the young girls were trying to out-orange each other!” she giggled.

To her satisfaction, a couple of them also laughed.

“What does soirée mean?” asked another one.

“It’s a French word for evening,” she smiled. “Gallant parties with all the pageantry, dancing, and hors-d’oeuvres you could dream of. Everyone that was anyone in the big city attended. I, myself, hosted many of these, at the manor.”

“You lived in a manor?” gasped one of them.

“Indeed, a two-storied building of red brick with many glass windows. Why, the dining room alone had three.”

“ Three ?”

“An extravagance, I know, but they had such a beautiful view of the garden,” she sighed, longingly.

Inside, she sighed in relief. The general mood of the crowd had shifted to something more respectful, even awed.

“But why are you here, though?” asked one at the back.

Victoria blinked, taken aback. She absolutely did not want to tell them the ugly truth. And at the same time, she knew everyone had heard of the sorry state she was in when she’d arrived in town.

“Ah,” she said. “I. Hum. It’s a delicate subject.”

“Heard you were beaten black and blue,” added the same woman, frowning.

“It was an accident,” she said, trying to keep her cool. “A misfortune, really. Left me practically disfigured, I could not show my face in polite society after that.”

“Was it an attempt at your life?” squealed one of the younger ones. “For the money?”

Victoria averted her eyes, twisted her hands. “Let’s say there was a… disagreement over some financial situations.”

They whispered excitedly among themselves. Victoria felt she could breathe again. As long as she remained interesting, they would not turn on her.

“But, enough about me! Here I am, blabbering about myself, and I still didn’t have the pleasure to learn any of your names!”

She soon met Mrs.Johnson, Mrs.Williams, Mrs.Thompson, Mrs.Baker, Mrs.Hall, Mrs.Roberts, Mrs.Carter, Mrs.Buckley and Mrs.Hill. They were not done shaking hands when a murmur came from the barn. Mass was about to start.

“Victoria, darling, you must come to the shindig after this,” said Deborah Horowitz. “I need to know everything there is to know about you and your life in the big city!”

“I’ll be there without a fault,” she smiled. “Ladies, it was a delight, I hope I get to talk to you later today.”

Victoria let them enter the barn, and took a moment to get her countenance back.

“You okay?” asked Mrs.Zhao.

“I want to hide in my room,” she sighed. “May I be excused from church?”

“Of course not,” said Mrs.Jackson. “This may not be our faith but God needs to see you’re at least making an effort.”

“Are you saying God takes attendance?” scoffed Mrs.Zhao.

“I’m saying He doesn’t need to for He sees everything, even the times you stay home to nurse a hangover, Hualing. You’ll have to justify that at the pearly gates.”

“Meh, I think He’d get it. Aren’t the Catholics all about wine, anyway?”

“Can you believe they think they have the real blood of Christ in that bottle?” said Mrs.Jackson, leading them to the barn. “And that day old sourdough is not my Lord and Saviour!”

“I miss Confucius,” grumbled Mrs.Zhao.

Inside, the barn had been filled with mismatched benches and chairs, and half of the people had to cram against the walls. Victoria spotted the girls on the third row, and squeezed into the thigh space they managed to save her.

“I am not that thin,” she whispered, caught between Lisette and Siobhan.

“It’s cozy,” giggled Lisette, linking their arms. “Are you alright? We saw you getting swarmed.”

“Like ants,” added Siobhan, twisting to be comfortable. “I saw an anthill pick a whole dead bird clean, once.”

“Charming,” grimaced Victoria. “Yes, I survived. And how is…”

They glanced at Consuelo, who was glaring at the front of the barn, her jaw clenched.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie in the house of God,” said Siobhan.

“It’s a barn,” sighed Lisette, with the exasperation of someone who had had the same argument many times before.

“There’s a priest, there’s a crucifix,” she said, pointing at the wooden cross where a lopsided version of Jesus agonized in a very expressive grimace. “It’s a church.”

The priest picked that moment to start mass, and they all fell silent. He spoke in a soft monotone, in Latin, and soon enough had Victoria bored to tears.

She glanced around, subtly. About half of the people seemed to know when to answer. At her surprise, both Consuelo and Siobhan dutifully recited the Latin back. Lisette, on the other hand, was nodding off.

Back in the crowd she spotted the people she knew. The Smiths were zoning out; Mrs.Horowitz and her family waited politely; Paul stood at the back of the barn; Mrs.Zhao and Mei shared the same bible. Mrs.Jackson was listening with rapt attention. Next to her was her husband, a tall and dashing fellow, and their two younger children.

She did not see Natane Díaz.

The sermon took forever and a day. Afterwards, the suffocating barn emptied, and people started switching the benches for tables, and clearing a space in the center.

“I need help with the food,” said Consuelo, stomping off.

Both girls followed her. Victoria was about to do the same, when a tall and dark figure near the barn stopped her in her tracks.

Natane Díaz, looking uncomfortable in a sombre dress, her hair held up, waved awkwardly. Victoria walked over, an enormous smile to her face.

“Oh, hello, my dear!” she said, bubbling with joy. “I thought I wouldn’t have the chance to see you, today!”

Natane reeled a bit faced with her enthusiasm, and took a second to answer. “I wanted to come. I tried,” she gestured at her nice clothes. “But I can’t stand church.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “I get it. The thing was simply torture. Lisette almost fell asleep, I had to grab her before she slipped off the pew!”

“Victoria!” called a woman, possibly Mrs.Thompson, or maybe it was Mrs.Johnson.

“In a moment, my dear!” she smiled back.

Natane watched the townspeople, her face devoid of expression. “You made friends?”

“They’re scary,” she smiled through her teeth.

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you staying for the shindig? I’d like to have a friendly face around.”

“…Yes, I think I will.”

They strolled back down the street, Victoria telling her about the encounter and Natane listening attentively. There, in the light of the day, Victoria could see what she’d already suspected: Natane’s face was actually very expressive. It was all in the eyes. Right at that moment, they were soft and relaxed. Victoria felt giddy.

Inside the brothel, Consuelo was giving marching orders. Siobhan, barely holding a covered pot, groaned when she saw them come in.

“Finally, more hands. Hey Mrs.Díaz. Weird look on you.”

“Siobhan!”

“She’s right,” said Natane, pulling the rigid fabric away from her body. “I haven’t worn this since Sebastian’s funeral. It’s scratchy.”

Victoria had a passing desire of dressing her in silks, velvets and satins. She remembered her extensive wardrobe in Salt Lake and mourned the occasion of finding something to suit those amazing features.

“I brought my normal clothes, they’re in the cart,” said Natane. “Can I use a room to change?”

“Of course, my dear! Use mine, it’s right over there, under the stairs.”

Victoria did not have the time to think about Natane undressing in her room, because Consuelo had her carry tablecloths and utensils. Still, walking back up the street, she could not stop her mind from going back to the strange notion. It was like an unwanted guest, a senseless thought that would not leave.