The Spoils of Sin Page 6

  ‘And retire to a life of idleness,’ Fanny laughed.

  ‘Jim left twenty bucks,’ said Carola. ‘You must have half of it.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Just because.’

  There were times when Fanny loved her friend so much it hurt.

  Chapter Five

  The winter brought snow, then deep slushy mud, then more snow. At times the mud froze solid, hurting the feet of horse and man alike. Fur-lined boots became the most prized item in everyone’s wardrobe, with matching hats a close second. Fanny and Carola had muffs made from fox fur, and ordered a great stack of logs to be delivered to their back yard. Hugo shivered in his kennel until he was permitted to sleep indoors when the nights were at their most bitter.

  The gold rumours evolved and expanded into unarguable fact, confirmed by the President himself in the final weeks of 1848, but nobody saw another Jim with his pockets full and his clothes abnormally fine until early in January. Jim himself had moved on in search of a place to settle and live out his days. ‘He’ll be wanting a wife,’ said Carola. ‘And chances are, he’ll very soon find one.’

  After a hesitant start, over half the men in Oregon decided to take a chance and make a dash southwards to see for themselves what the reality of the matter might be. News of their progress was patchy, but before long there were fantastic reports of men who had taken home ten thousand dollars and more from a single week’s light digging. Carola became restless, convinced that they were missing shining opportunities to enrich themselves. Very few of the prospectors had returned to their homesteads in Oregon, and Carola expressed an opinion that they were more likely to start new lives in the California sunshine, where they might satisfy their feverish appetites with ease. ‘There will be a dire shortage of female company,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Fanny agreed. ‘But … they will be drunken and rough. Men from Chile; Mexicans and foreigners. Can we not remain here, and wait for the wealth to come to us? Surely they won’t all stay in California?’

  ‘We might leave it until the springtime,’ Carola conceded. ‘By then we will know more of how things stand.’

  As things stood, their business was flagging badly. Mr Canelli was sending barely one man a week, and only a handful of middle-aged regulars remained.

  Charlie still came to visit Fanny every Friday night, aiming to be the last of her customers, so as to stay and talk a while. Her pity for him changed to admiration over the weeks. His body was well-muscled, his face attractive in a lean kind of way. ‘And really, it would be foolish to permit such a deformity to make me bitter,’ he said. ‘Even when normal, it remains insignificant compared to arms and legs. A man must work and think before he lets his passions hold sway.’

  Fanny tilted her head and smiled. ‘If the world were in an ideal state, that would surely be true,’ she said.

  ‘But it ain’t. I know that. If you’d known me at sixteen you’d have never let me into your bed. I was a mad dog then, raging at the injury done to me. I had an older brother, who I swear made mock of every day of my life. He called me a freak.’

  ‘Cruel,’ said Fanny. ‘Did you mother not prevent him?’

  ‘My mother acted as if nothing was wrong. Her own guilt ate away at her sense of what was real, until she lived all her time in a dream.’

  Knowing the answer already, but hoping for further details, she asked, ‘It was her doing?’

  ‘Who else? Not that she wielded the knife, but she had it done to me, since her parents were Israelites and it forms part of their religious practice.’

  ‘And your brother? He had it too?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘No trouble at all. He’d get it out and show me, any chance he got. He has four children now.’ His eyes went pink and he looked away.

  Since first meeting Charlie, Fanny had taken closer note of the foreskins on her customers. To date, she had not encountered a single man who had suffered any mutilation by way of removal. ‘It seems to me very rare,’ she said.

  ‘It is barbarism, pure and simple,’ he said, with a growl. ‘It sickens me to think of the whole Jewish race taking a knife to their little sons.’

  ‘And me,’ said Fanny with feeling. ‘Where was your father when it was being done? Had he no power of veto?’

  ‘My father was a soft man, fond of books and botanical studies. He married my mother for her black hair and lovely voice, or so he said. Her voice soon turned harsh, and she never gave him a moment’s peace in his life. He would never have dared interfere in her wishes, on any topic.’

  Such women too were rare, in Fanny’s experience. Those she had met who managed to get their own way in the family did it mainly with subtlety and bargaining. ‘Poor man,’ she said.

  Charlie took her hand, which worried her and made her feel awkward. ‘You maintain your sympathy for the male of the species, then? Despite your intimate knowledge of their ways?’

  She frowned. ‘They show me no malice. I have learned to satisfy their needs – which are generally very simple. I see no cause for dislike.’ She closed her mind against the nagging memory of John, who had frightened her on the opening night. Every time she led a new client up the stairs she suffered a pang of apprehension that here would be one such as John had described. One who would hurt her for his own pleasure, or require something unnatural and humiliating of her. Her imagination baulked at what these might be, and she dreaded enlightenment.

  ‘You have a good heart, Miss Francesca,’ Charlie told her. ‘I have glimpsed it in all its kindness.’

  Fanny’s own eyes filled at this. She thought of her sister, Charity, who was not a kind girl, but judgmental and narrow. And yet the world would deem it the reverse. Fanny was a sinner, while her sister was a respectable married woman. It was unjust, she thought, with a surge of self-pity.

  Carola showed a growing anxiety concerning Charlie. ‘He is plainly a devotee,’ she said. ‘Remember what we said on that subject?’

  Fanny only faintly recalled the conversation. It had to do with the necessity of keeping a distance between themselves and the men. Carola quoted her Charleston aunt, who had spoken a good deal on the matter: ‘We can never make the mistake of falling in love with any of them. That is not what they require of us. There can be no question of marriage for women in this business. That remains the first and most absolute fact.’

  Fanny had shrugged. ‘I know that,’ she said lightly.

  ‘It is a hard thing to truly know and accept,’ Carola persisted. ‘There might be men who think they can carry us away from our degrading ways and redeem us by marriage. They will mean well, and never see the obstacles.’

  Again Fanny brushed the caution aside. Deep down she thought such a rescue sounded romantic and not altogether impossible. But she nodded an easy agreement.

  Now she said, ‘Charlie presents no danger, believe me. He will soon be ready to ride off in search of a wife. I believe I have given him the necessary courage.’

  ‘In that case, I congratulate you,’ said Carola. ‘But I ask myself how comes it that he remains here in Chemeketa when all his comrades have rushed off to find gold.’

  ‘He lacks the necessary motivation,’ Fanny explained. ‘His courage lies in other directions. And perhaps he understands that no amount of gold can ensure him the contentment he craves.’

  ‘Any wife would look on him with increased favour if he offered her the security of money in the bank.’

  ‘Perhaps he will go one day, then.’

  Fanny did indeed feel she deserved a degree of praise for her service to Charlie. At the same time, she resented the implication that she might be over-fond of him. Never for a second had she envisaged herself in the role of his wife. If that possibility ever did arise, it would be with a man of such towering force, such passionate adoration, such over-riding abilities to face down society, that she would be like a silk scarf in his hand. He could crush her down to the smallest bundle and carry her away in his belt, to be restored to a ful
l and pure beauty once shaken out and displayed to the world.

  On a mild day at the end of February, an unusual figure stepped through their door one noontime. The girls were at the stove, shovelling out the ash and brushing clean the floor all around it. There were cigar butts and lucifer ends scattered about, as well as occasional spots from ill-aimed wads of chewed tobacco. Hugo lolled in a corner on an old piece of bearskin. He gave a surprised woof when he detected the visitor.

  ‘Might I come in?’ she asked.

  The girls looked up to see a woman of their mothers’ age or more, dressed in fur and feathers, her jet black hair stiff with paste designed to give it extra height and volume. She stood tall and rigid, as if laced into stays that were far too tight for comfort.

  ‘Of course,’ said Carola. ‘We are at your service.’

  Fanny shot her a glance, which asked a silent question: How can we service such a person as this?

  ‘My name is Marybelle. I have lately come from California, on the advice of a gentleman friend. He told me of all the delights of Oregon Territory, so I came to see for myself.’ It was obviously a rehearsed little speech, delivered with a girlish smile that fitted badly with the person making it.

  ‘We would offer you coffee, but the stove is out. We can have it ready in a half-hour or so.’

  ‘No need. Might I sit down?’ The woman eyed the velvet couches and their fine silk and satin cushions. ‘You have some excellent furnishings, I see.’

  ‘We try to make it comfortable.’ Carola was still taking the lead, while Fanny stood watchful and uneasy. She could see no good in this visitor, nothing being offered that could bring them benefit. She winced as the woman sank deeply into a soft seat and wriggled her shoulders like a cat settling itself down for the day.

  ‘I am not mistaken, I hope, in the nature of your business? Your use of the word boudoir on your sign is a trifle puzzling. I am accustomed to parlour as the usual title.’

  ‘There has been very little confusion as to our meaning. We opened in the summer of last year and have received no complaints. In a town as small as this, our part is very plain to see.’

  ‘Your part? You play a part in the life of the town?’ The woman shook her head. ‘I am at a loss to understand you.’

  Fanny stepped forward. ‘What do you want from us?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you here?’

  Marybelle met her eyes. ‘I am simply interested. You have perhaps understood that I myself am in this same line of work, and there is always a curiosity as to how others manage. There are precious few models for you to follow, out here in such a new land. I can see already that you have made choices of your own, with no opportunity for imitation. I dare say there is not another boudoir for a hundred miles or more. I admire your courage in ploughing such a new furrow.’

  ‘And is it your judgement that we have chosen well?’ asked Fanny.

  ‘To the extent that you both look healthy and moderately contented, I should say you have avoided many mistakes, so far. The dog is a surprise. What purpose does it play, may I ask?’

  ‘He protects us,’ said Fanny.

  ‘Indeed?’ Marybelle gave Hugo a speculative look. ‘That strikes me as inordinately clever of you. So much less trouble than keeping a man about the place.’

  ‘Healthy and contented,’ Carola repeated. ‘Would you have expected us to be sick and miserable, then?’

  ‘Perhaps not so soon. I have been in the business for five and twenty years, and I count myself most fortunate to have survived so long. Do you ever give a thought to the future, my dears?’

  ‘We most certainly do!’ Fanny spoke with force. ‘We intend to save our earnings until we can acquire property and retire to a life of ease.’

  Carola threw her a warning look. She was always nervous when anybody spoke of money. But she quickly relaxed and joined in. ‘We are considering the wisdom of moving down to the goldfields and perhaps improving ourselves in consequence.’

  Marybelle grimaced. ‘That, I believe, could be a mistake.’

  Fanny’s chin jutted forward. ‘Why so?’

  The visitor sighed and leaned back even further into the cushions. ‘It is too late for me to try to give you a warning. Too late to persuade you that it is a dangerous path you are treading. And I am no wise woman, in any case, to point out the dangers or give you advice. Let me, if I may, merely ask you what your purpose was, at the outset? What did you think you were doing – and why would you do it?’

  Carola and Fanny looked blankly at each other, as if the question had no imaginable answer. Had they, they wondered, ever debated a reason in plain terms? Perhaps they had, but if so, it was already quite forgotten.

  ‘There is a need,’ said Fanny tentatively. ‘So many men without a wife, their natural appetites thwarted.’ She dimly recalled how much she and Abel Tennant had enjoyed each other on the Trail, on hot summer days beside one river or another. How innocent and pleasurable it had been – until her sister Charity discovered them and poured her horror and disapproval over them. It had never been quite the same after that. Abel had sowed the idea, speaking of her inborn talent and how she would appeal to the countless single men roaming across the territory. ‘There are few such remunerative opportunities for a young woman out here.’

  ‘Or anywhere else,’ muttered Carola. ‘I was shown the possibilities, back in Charleston, by a relative. I have never felt inclined to marriage, and all that comes along with it.’

  ‘Children,’ nodded Marybelle. ‘Security. A solid place in society. You discard all that for this?’

  ‘Drudgery. Obedience. An early grave,’ added Fanny. ‘My father’s wife died at twenty, having given birth twice.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  Fanny shook her head. ‘He married again, and perhaps she had a better time of it than the first Mrs Collins, although there could be an argument the other way. Three daughters of her own to watch over, as well as the one from the first wife, and a long migration from Rhode Island, to end her days on a homestead where she must milk cows and hoe potatoes like a slave. If fortune is with them, my father’s business might flourish sufficiently to employ a girl to take a share of the work – but more likely ’twill be a man to plough the ground, and the women’s work remain with my mother and sisters.’

  ‘Good healthy work, in the fresh air, with nothing to bring you worries except for the rain wetting the weekly wash,’ said Marybelle.

  Fanny shrugged. ‘It has no appeal for me,’ she said.

  ‘Or me,’ endorsed Carola. ‘My mother sits all day on a chaise longue with a foul-smelling dog on her lap, giving orders to slaves who hate her.’

  Marybelle laughed. ‘And how is that different from the “retirement” you anticipate, once your fortunes are made?’

  ‘I shall travel,’ Carola asserted. ‘I wish to see the Indies, the Spice Islands, the southern seas.’ She flicked out the skirts of her silk frock. ‘I shall wear the finest costumes, and eat the finest food. And when I grow old, I shall live on a hilltop in Old Europe, as my great-grandmother did, and think back on my colourful life.’

  ‘A lonely fate,’ murmured Marybelle. ‘And an unlikely one. Whoever heard of an American born and bred settling down in Europe? What can you imagine it has to offer you?’

  ‘I intend to go to see for myself,’ said Carola stoutly.

  ‘You are mere children,’ the older woman observed. ‘Making up your romances and your dreams to evade the unpleasantness all around you.’

  ‘What, then, would you have us do?’ asked Fanny, with narrow eyes. Hugo, picking up her tone, pricked up his ears and gave a low growl.

  ‘Mercy! I meant no offence. I admire you, I do truly. But be that as it may, I cannot help worrying on your behalf.’

  ‘There is no need,’ said Fanny.

  ‘I see that there is less need than I expected.’ Marybelle shifted in her seat, clasping her hands together tightly. ‘It is so very hard to find the words. I allow that life here is quite d
ifferent from that in California. From the little I have seen, it has every appearance of a paradise by comparison. I see scarcely an Indian, and not a single firearm. I counted no fewer than five goodwives, between the town hall and here. The talk on the bark was all of families and orchards and peaceful settlement. Oregon is growing famous for its serenity,’ she summarised. ‘A respite from the insanity that has gripped humanity not so far away from here.’

  ‘Bark?’ echoes Carola. ‘You came here by sea?’

  ‘Along the coast from San Francisco to Astoria and thence a river steamer. It is a lovely trip. If you have ambitions to travel, I suggest you begin with your own doorstep.’

  ‘You diverted from your main point,’ Fanny reminded her. ‘You allow that we live in a paradise, and yet…?’

  ‘And yet you immerse yourself in the one practice that polite society universally condemns. You wilfully permit yourself to be spoiled and tainted beyond recall.’

  ‘Beyond redemption,’ murmured Fanny, remembering her Catholic upbringing.

  ‘You did the same thing yourself,’ Carola pointed out. ‘Are you telling us that you regret it now?’

  ‘Not so simple a message as that,’ sighed Marybelle. ‘Besides, as we established already, it is too late for such feelings. The damage is done.’ She looked from face to face. ‘But perhaps not,’ she mused.

  ‘We are not fools,’ snapped Carola. ‘We are protecting ourselves from disease. The men we service are clean and healthy. Those who are not, we send away.’

  ‘I regret a number of the consequences,’ Marybelle returned to the question. ‘Many of them only apparent to me in recent months, when I at last succeeded in wrenching myself away from that life. It came as a great shock to me to find how very difficult that was.’

  ‘So it was a good life. You missed it?’ The older girl leaned forward challengingly. Fanny remained quiet, still hearing the word redemption ringing in her ears.

  ‘That is the puzzle. How could I say it was a good life? My body was used, night after night, with no – or very little – affection or concern. My own sensations never held any significance for those men, other than the few who enjoyed inflicting pain. And yet, it is a trivial thing in itself. An easy thing. An animal instinct like an urge to scratch an itch, quickly satisfied. If they willingly part with their dollars to gain that satisfaction, then someone must take advantage of that willingness. They poured gold down my bodice and filled my boots with it. I worked six hours each day, at most, and have profited immensely, since they first found the gold, barely half a year since. I was already on the spot, you see. Many would opine that I was the most fortunate of women, thanks to that accident of location.’