The Diary Of Mattie Spenser (20 page)

“Where is Jessie?”

“O …” Moses looked down at his hands, which I observed were as smooth and finely manicured as Persia’s. He caught my glance and flexed the fingers with pride. “You don’t see a farmer with hands like these. In my profession, I need them.” To my quizzical look, he explained, “I’m a dealer. Cards, that is. O, it’s not what I came here to do, but I’ve got the knack for it, and it’s better than panning a mountain stream in winter. Jessie’s got her heart set on going to Buckskin Joe—that’s south of here—come spring, though why, I don’t know, with all the money she takes in. I guess we will, if she wants to.”

“Then Jessie has found work,” I said.

Moses cleared his throat. “Yeah. She’s kind of what you might call a doctor. For women, that is. You know how good she was when Johnnie was born. And with Mrs. Amidon, too. Jessie said she thought Mrs. Amidon would have killed herself if she hadn’t helped out.”

I thought over Moses’s words, not quite understanding. Then, of a sudden, I asked, “Does she work on Holladay Street? Upper Holladay Street?”

Moses looked up quickly. “How do you know about Holladay?”

I have learnt that when one is uncertain of a thing, the best way to elicit information is to keep quiet, which advice I sometimes follow.

“You know about it then, do you?” he said when I did not reply. “Well, there are plenty of the most desperate sort of women working the line who need her, and some others, too, who live in society. Those arrive after dark when they think nobody sees them. Jessie says it’s funny how they draw up their skirts when she passes on the street, but they’re not too proud to go looking for her at night. She makes them pay for it. I guess she’s made as much money as any woman in Denver.”

Moses reached into the pocket of his vest and extracted a square of pasteboard, handing it to me. To my surprise, because I did not know such women presented calling cards, it read:

MRS. J. CONNOR-EARLEY

Denver City

(Holladay at H Street)

•

Ladies Suffering from Chronic Diseases

Will Find my Commonsense Treatment

Greatly to Their Advantage

Will Attend Calls to Neighboring Towns

While I find such an occupation unsavory, I cannot condemn it. I well remember Charlotte Hoover, who was cruelly deceived at Fort Madison and left alone to deal with the consequences of her folly. When her body was pulled from the river, I told Carrie I wished there was a way to destroy the unwanted child without sacrificing the mother. At home, an abortionist, for that is what Jessie is, would be subject to tar pots and feathers, but here she is a valuable member of the community. I do not know, is that so wrong?

“Where is Holladay Street?” I asked.

“O, I wouldn’t go there if I was you. Not that it’s all bawdy houses, you understand. Just part of it. Still, it’s no place for a lady.”

“But I would like to pay my respects to Jessie.”

“I’ll convey them.” Moses cleared his throat. “Ah, she’d be grateful if you didn’t tell it about in Mingo, the line of work she’s in. Just say I’m taking care of her. Jessie’s never worked the line, but folks in Mingo have in mind that she’s no good. I wouldn’t want to stir up talk.” Moses does not care so much about what “folks” think as he does about Tom’s opinion, and I believe he does not want his brother to know the truth.

“I keep my own counsel, particularly when it comes to friends, such as you and Mrs. Earley.”

Of course, I did not know if Jessie was Mrs. Earley, but I hoped to elicit information to pass along in Mingo if it was favorable. Moses gave me an uneasy smile, but he did not remark on his marital state. Instead, he said, “That’s a real pretty bonnet.”

We spoke a few minutes more about old times, until Moses said he must be at work, and I took my leave, promising to tell Tom I had found his brother well and happy, giving as few details as possible.

March 8, 1867. Denver City.

“Why, there is a lady of refinement,” said Mrs. Chubb, who likes to watch people pass by the window of the West Lindell. “You can tell she’s not from Denver.”

I turned and studied the woman. “Indeed, she is not. She is my friend from Mingo!”

Jessie Connor certainly was a lady of style in her elegant black silk suit, trimmed in jet. She wore black kid gloves, the like of which I had not seen since leaving the Mississippi, and a hat that was every bit as smart as my new lilac bonnet. No one would recognize her now as the strumpet Missus once called Red Legs, if, in fact, she ever had been.

Jessie drew many admiring looks as she walked into the hotel, but her glance was for me alone, and the instant she saw me, Jessie rushed over and kissed my cheek. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Mrs. Chubb was impressed with my acquaintance with such a magnificent creature.

After Jessie and I had embraced, I spied a beaming Moses behind her, also dressed in spotless black, with boots polished to a shine. A narrow scarf was tied rakishly about his neck, in the manner of the gamblers at the Mozart. He saluted me warmly, and I presented the two of them to Mrs. Chubb, saying, “You must make the acquaintance of my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Earley.”

Jessie gave not the slightest indication that the introduction might be in error, and she held out her hand graciously.

“We’ve come to collect you for dinner,” Moses told me, turning to Mrs. Chubb. “It won’t be as good as the Christmas dinner Mrs. Spenser spread for me and my brother. She has a way with the Christmas cake all right.”

I blushed at his praise, but Moses did not notice, as he had spotted Johnnie. He threw him up into the air, causing Boykins to laugh happily. “If this one hadn’t been in such a hurry, me and Jessie would have done the honors with him.” Johnnie put his little arms around Moses’s neck, to the pleasure of both. “How would you like to take your dinner in a fancy restaurant?” he asked.

“O, we cannot,” I said. “I showed Johnnie the sights. Now he suffers from a cold, and I fear he may come down with the croup, as well. Besides, he is ready for a nap.”

Mrs. Chubb spoke up. “I’ll see to the nap. You run along with your friends.”

I protested that I could not impose on her twice, but she insisted, saying that when Johnnie awakened, she would bring him downstairs, where she would enjoy the attention of all. I knew she was sincere, so I accepted her kind offer, hurrying to my room with Jessie to change into my navy silk.

As I removed my traveling costume, Jessie observed, “You’re not pregnant.”

“I lost the baby at Christmas.”

“A purpose?”

Of course, such a question was in the worst taste, but I think Jessie intended it as a professional query, so I did not take offense. “Things were never right. I had been sick from the onset. It was God’s will.”

Jessie snorted. “God’s will. La! Myself, I don’t trust the man. That’s why I’m in the line of work I am. Moses says he acquainted you with it. I don’t mind you knowing. Others would judge me for it, but not you. You was nicer to me than anybody in Mingo.”

“There were many in Mingo who liked you. Emmie Lou is one. I believe you saved her life,” I said. “But you are right to say that I do not judge. I shall always hold you in the highest regard for your attention to me.” Then I added impulsively, “Jessie, I like you better than anyone I’ve met in Colorado.”

Jessie bit her lip, then wiped a bit of dust from her eye. “Best we hurry. Moses don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Moses is a good man,” I said, tying the ribbons of my new bonnet to form a bow just under my ear.

“The best I ever had,” she replied.

My friends carried me off to the People’s Restaurant on Blake Street, which, despite the rawness of the town, was as dazzling as anything to be found in Fort Madison—or down the Mississippi in Hannibal, for that matter. It was tastefully appointed with walnut tables and chairs and crystal lights hanging from the ceiling. All were transported across the prairie from St. Joseph by oxcart. The most remarkable thing about the establishment, however, is that it is owned by an industrious Negro. Nobody cares in the least that he is a Son of Africa as long as he does his job, and he does it with great success, for the place was crowded and the prices high. Of course, he is very light-skinned.

We were presented with many dining choices, Jessie and I both selecting trout, which I had not tasted before. It is the fish that swims in the mountain rivers, and it was daintily prepared. Moses chose badger, whose dark red meat is solid and sweet. When we had finished, I was invited to select a dessert from among many splendid offerings, which included wine jelly and queen’s pudding, both great favorites of mine. But there was just one choice for me, and that was chocolate cake, which I have not tasted since last autumn (and that, having been made by Persia, was not very tasty).

As the waiter set the plate in front of me, Jessie looked up and frowned as someone came into view across the room. I did not turn, for she quickly brought her attention back to me, but I wondered if she had seen one of her “patients.” I put the glance out of my mind, however, for I was enjoying the opportunity to relive old times with friends, as well as to taste the excellent cake.

We had a most agreeable time, and I did not want it to end, but at last, the bill was presented, and Moses paid it. When we rose to leave, Jessie stepped beside me, talking earnestly and taking my arm, blocking my view of the restaurant. But she did not block Moses’s view, and he said, “Why, look, there’s Luke.” Moses raised his arm in gesture, whilst Jessie shook her head violently, saying, “La! Do be still.” But it was too late. I turned, to see my husband seated at a small table, his hand on the linen cloth, holding the hand of his companion. That companion was Persia.

To my humiliation, Persia looked up and recognized me. She said something to Luke, who glanced our way, his face as unexpressive as if he were studying the prairie grass, but he quickly let go of Persia’s hand.

I did not wait for him to come to us to offer explanation, but said, “It is very close in here. Let us go out at once.” With a friend on each side of me, I was led into the street, where I took the fresh air in great gulps. Neither companion mentioned the scene inside, but stood quietly with me, waiting for Luke to emerge from the restaurant and give an accounting.

After many minutes, I realized he was not coming. So did Moses, who, without a word, presented his arm to me, and we three walked on, not stopping or talking until we came to an ugly building that I took to be a stable.

“That is the Elephant Corral,” said Moses.

“It is famous. Mr. Horace Greeley wrote about it in the New York Tribune,” added Jessie.

I was grateful for their efforts to turn my mind from Luke’s strange behavior, and I replied in a light manner. “When I write home, I shall say I have not ‘seen the elephant,’ as Mr. Bondurant puts it, but I have been to his home.” We all laughed a little too loudly, for the sally was not that humorous. But it allowed us to pursue a new subject, and for that, we were all relieved.

When we returned to the West Lindell, Mrs. Chubb and Johnnie were not to be found in the reception room. I said my goodbye to Moses, but Jessie insisted on accompanying me to the room, as she had not yet held Johnnie. At the door, she stopped me. “You tell Mrs. Amidon, I can send her something if she needs it. And you. You remember if you want a friend, you have one in Jessie. Write me if you need me.” She extended another of her cards. “I brung something else for you, too. It’s laudanum, for the nerves. I hope you never feel the need of it, but you might.” Jessie thrust a bottle of the opium into my hand. Then without going into the room to hold Boykins, she took her leave.

Johnnie was asleep, and Mrs. Chubb explained sheepishly that she had awakened him when we left, so that she might take him to the lobby, where all could enjoy his antics. “He’ll sleep awhile longer, as he was tired,” she said, then looked closely at me. “You look tuckered out yourself, Mrs. Spenser. Your friends have exhausted you.”

I nodded, for I was very tired indeed, though not because of Jessie and Moses.

“What you need is a bath. The hotel will bring one up for a dime. I’ll go right down and order it.”

For the past two years, I had bathed in nothing larger than a washtub, and suddenly a proper bath was what I wanted most in the world. I did not care if the cost had been four bits. I thanked Mrs. Chubb, and within a few minutes, a man arrived at my door with a hip tub, buckets of hot water, and a piece of soap that was as soft as flower petals.

At his leaving, I stripped off my dress, the sight of which brought to mind Persia in her robin’s egg blue costume, decorated with old gold lace that made her hair shimmer like a heap of bright coins. I compared her habiliments with my own plain costume and remembered that Persia had called it the ugliest wedding dress she had ever seen. I threw it upon the floor and sat down in the tub, scrubbing every inch of myself, as if I could rub out the sight of Luke and Persia. When my anger was washed away, I let the tears come and splash into the water. I leaned my head against the back of the tub and sobbed in self-pity. Then I cried for Mother, who could no longer comfort me, for the little boy I had lost at Christmas, and for Sallie. At last, the hot water and exhaustion brought blissful sleep. When I awoke, the water was cold, and Baby was cooing to me.

It is now very late, past nine o’clock, I should judge, and still no sign of Luke. I cannot explain his faithlessness. Is he still with Persia? Does he regret Baby and me? Does he not care that his perfidy has brought me such pain? I sit in a chair by the window, looking out at the mountain range, which is now just a black shape against the dark sky. The sunset was very angry, with bold clashes of orange and violet that tore into the sky as well as my heart, where it joined the anguish already present there. The noise from the street is harsh and hurts my head. I do not like Denver City anymore. I am sorry I came here.

March 10, 1867. Prairie Home.

We were away but a week, but O, what a great deal of work awaited us upon our return. Luke spends many hours in the field, not only making up for lost time but putting into practice the ideas he learnt in Denver. An agriculturist at one of the meetings proposed that farmers on the dry plains plow their fields in half circles instead of straight rows, claiming such a method keeps the wind from blowing away seed and soil and will attract moisture. The proposal drew much ridicule, but Luke was taken with it, as was Tom when he heard about it. So now the two farmers are plowing the field between our homesteads in undulating furrows. I think a crow flying overhead must think the land worked by a blind plowman with a mule full of rum.