What Frees the Heart, Page 2

  Mamie hadn’t insisted Jenny go to any particular girl to smooth her rough edges, so Jenny could think about who she liked who’d also help her satisfy Mamie and the more stuck-up customers. There was Aileen, whose Scottish accent Jenny loved to listen to, but Aileen hadn’t been at Mamie’s much longer than Jenny, and Jenny didn’t know as she was popular enough with that kind of customer. Mamie had mentioned Lucette and Penny. Penny was English and pretty stuck up herself. She might not say no to something that was Mamie’s idea, but she’d probably find a way to make Jenny feel lower’n a snake while “helping” her. Lucette, now, was friendlier, as well as dainty and pretty. If she taught Jenny some of her French words, Jenny could try some out next time she had the kind of customer who’d got Mamie sore at her.

  So at the slow time of morning, she went up to where Lucette was embroidering a lacy handkerchief and explained what Mamie wanted. Lucette’s eyes went bright. “But of course! I would be happy to help. Come up to my room, and we can talk about it.”

  That was for sure better than talking where the other girls might hear and make fun. She followed Lucette to her room, which Mamie had decorated to remind everyone that Lucette came from somewhere fancier than Cowbird Creek. The curtains had more lace on them than in the other rooms, the blanket was embroidered with fancy blue and white and red designs, and a thick close-shaved blue and white area rug stretched under the bed on all sides. Even the easy chair was less, well, easy, less comfy-looking but more elegant-like, though it was big enough for most customers to fit in.

  Lucette hopped onto her bed and crossed her legs under her petticoats and skirt. “Please, take the chair! We will talk.”

  Jenny sat, glad she had enough of her own padding that she didn’t need much from a chair.

  “Let us start with what Madame Mamie did not like, what you did or said that made her send you to me.”

  Jenny didn’t see the need to tell Lucette that Mamie hadn’t done exactly that. As best she could recall, she told Lucette what joke and what slang had got Mamie’s back up. Lucette listened with her plucked eyebrows up into her forehead. “Ah, oui, I see why that joke might displease Madame. Let me think. Why did you decide to tell the gentleman a joke in the first place?”

  Jenny shrugged. “He just seemed stiff, is all. He didn’t unbutton his waistcoat or nothing when he came in the room. And he didn’t look right at me. Not until I told that joke, and then he looked at me like I was some sort of bug.”

  “You may well have been correct that he was ill at ease. It is good that you noticed this. But it is less risky to relax a gentleman in some other way, unless you know you share a sense of humor — and so many people do not, don’t you think? You could instead tell him how glad you are that he came in, that he chose you, and how flattered you are that such a handsome —”

  Jenny let out a guffaw.

  “— Well, then, so distinguished a gentleman would be spending time with you. You could offer to have some refreshment brought for him, and ask what he would like. Not only may this allow him to compose himself if he is nervous — and no matter how well regarded he is, or how well he regards himself, he may be nervous — but it will ensure that your encounter takes longer, which will mean that he pays for more time. A man such as we are discussing can afford it.”

  Jenny wished she could be sure she’d remember all this, and whatever was coming next. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought how handy it’d be to know her letters better, though it was hard to imagine writing quick enough to keep up with Lucette’s way of talking.

  “As for your comment on the weather, rather than describing the rainstorm as a toad strangler, you could have expressed your hope that the excess of rain had not inconvenienced him. I do not think Madame, or — which gentleman was it?”

  Jenny told her. Lucette tittered. “I can imagine his face! No, I do not think he would have objected if you had expressed such a wish. As for jokes, you must wait and see if he tells any of his own accord, and if he does, laugh as if you never heard anything better — but not too loud, and without slapping the furniture. Only if he has told you perhaps five or six jokes might you venture to tell your own — perhaps something similar you have heard from another gentleman. And apologize beforehand in case he has heard it already.”

  Jenny couldn’t help but sulk. “I don’t see why that old coot and his sort are so picky. I made him feel good enough! And they ain’t coming here for a manners lesson, are they, now?”

  Lucette frowned and wagged a finger. “No, but neither are they coming here only to relieve a physical need. A man seeks more than that release. He seeks companionship, and to feel welcome, and admired, and special. Think of what he may have left behind at home — a wife with at least as many pretensions as he has, and not always inclined to be easily pleased. She may have the habit of scolding him, or ignoring him, or paying attention only to what luxuries he provides her. While he can come to a parlor house such as this and find a woman not only willing and handsome, but eager to see him and listen to whatever he has to say, and appreciative of what physical prowess he displays, however it may compare to that of other, perhaps younger men.”

  Jenny couldn’t keep from imagining those younger men Lucette was talking about. They’d surely be a welcome change. “Sounds like I’ve got to turn myself into some sort of actress.”

  “Exactement! We must be actresses, and hostesses, and confidantes, all together. But the rewards may be great. It is not only that by pleasing these men, we will please Madame, who decides whether we remain employed and what our wages will be. It can happen that a wealthy gentleman will be so taken with our charms, will so much enjoy how we make him feel and how we help him to see himself, that he will wish to have us available only to him. Girls have left places like this to have their own establishments, their own houses with as many luxuries as any wife — or even to become wives themselves!”

  Lucette’s face fairly glowed as she talked. But Jenny couldn’t see what was so much to fancy in the picture Lucette was painting. Having to spend hours every day with some flabby or skinny old man, one as full of himself as the blowhard who had got her into this fix? Having to pretend he was fine as cream gravy?

  Maybe she could learn just enough to keep Mamie from kicking her out, but not enough to please that kind of customer too much.

  What else had Mamie been going on about?

  “Do you think you could teach me to sing something pretty, maybe in French?”

  Jenny had three old men as customers the next two days, and she tried to do the things Lucette had talked about. She even sang to the banker, soft-like, when he came in looking like he was carrying half the world on his back. Not in French, but it seemed to soothe him some.

  When she finally got to go to sleep, in the early hours of the morning, she thought she’d fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. But she ended up lying awake for near a quarter of an hour, thinking about how much more she liked it when a young man came in, a cowboy or a farmer’s son, and how much she’d rather have only such customers as she could be Jenny with, and even tell a joke to, instead of trying to be somebody else without knowing how.

  Chapter 3

  This first day, Tom didn’t like to stop much to stretch. His back was aching plenty when he finally got a good excuse. The door opened, giving Tom a glance at sunshine, and there stood Mrs. Finch, as used to be Mrs. Arden, and who knew what before that. Her flowery dress and her pink and white bonnet looked like spring walking in, for all she couldn’t make the shop smell any better. She wrinkled her nose just a little, but by the time Finch looked up, she had a pretty smile to show him as she held out a basket. “Here’s your dinner, darling.”

  Finch, who had been stitching what looked like a lady’s pair of shoes, came to meet her and take the basket. Tom thought he might give her a kiss, but no. Would Finch have kissed her if Tom wasn’t there? He’d hate to be the reason a lady didn’t get her kiss.

  She turned to Tom. �
�I’m so sorry — I didn’t know you’d be here, so I’ve nothing to give you.”

  “Don’t fret, please, ma’am. I’ve got something I brought.” It was nothing but jerky, but it’d have to hold him until supper.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be sure to bring you some dinner as well.”

  Finch gave his missus a kind of sharp look, like he hadn’t been intending to feed Tom along with employing him. It’d sure be interesting to see how much was in that basket tomorrow.

  She moved back toward Finch and patted his cheek. “I’ll see you at home, darling. Shall I bring Hope with me tomorrow? She wanted to come today, but she hadn’t finished stitching her sampler.”

  Tom held back a shudder. At least he hadn’t had such fiddling work to do as a boy.

  Finch headed back toward his workbench. “Bring her, then, if the lass is done with her chores.”

  Finch’s missus left, a sweet breeze blowing in as she went out the door. Finch looked at Tom and cleared his throat. Tom stretched one more time and sat back down to his work.

  The shadows were long behind Tom as he finally trudged toward home, his stump aching something fierce, with a few burning throbs thrown in. It had got a fair bit colder since morning, the wind picking up and jabbing at him. Not to mention that he was starving.

  He wasn’t sparing much attention for looking right and left, but as he drew near Doc Gibbs’ house, he saw the front step was occupied again. Not Mrs. Gibbs this time — Doc himself was setting out there. He might have been watching for Tom to come by. Tom thought about not noticing. He didn’t need Doc, or his missus, looking after him.

  Doc must have guessed what Tom had in mind. He came down the steps and stood almost in Tom’s path, to where it’d be downright rude for Tom to go around him. Tom stopped, resting his weight on his good leg, and waited for Doc to speak his piece.

  Doc looked a little embarrassed, which probably meant Tom was glaring at him. He owed Doc better’n that. Doc most probably saved his life. And even crippled, he’d rather be alive, most days.

  But as good sense as that was, it was hard, sometimes, to feel friendly around the man who’d cut off his leg.

  Meanwhile, Doc had got over being embarrassed and started talking. “Won’t you come in for a minute and warm up? Besides, I’ve been meaning to get out to the farm and check on how you were doing, and here you are. I’d take it as a favor if you’d save me the trip.”

  Tom could see through that easy enough. However he’d be doing at the farm, he was doing considerable worse just now after walking to town, and getting up and down a fair number of times during the day, and now walking partway home. But he had to admit getting off his feet, just for a minute, sounded like a borrowed bit of heaven. “Yessir, I’ll do that.”

  He wasn’t even through the door when he smelled something baking. He’d never figured Clara Brook for much of a cook, but his nose said she’d learned how to bake at least. He looked around for her, but Doc, seeing him do it, said, “She’s off taking some corn muffins to the barber. She left enough for us. Maybe a muffin will take your mind off my poking around.”

  Tom sat where Doc told him to, rolled up his trouser leg, took a muffin, and paid as much attention to it as he could while Doc took off the wooden leg and moved the stump this way and that. He snuck a look at Doc’s face, from which he could’ve figured what he already knew, that he’d been overdoing things. If Doc’s handling made his leg smart, well, he had that coming.

  What with just jerky for dinner, the muffin didn’t last long. He didn’t like to ask for another. But then he had quite an idea for how to stay distracted. With Doc here, and his missus not here, and none of Tom’s family around, it was the perfect time to ask a question he’d been wondering on.

  “Doc? If you don’t mind saying — you doctor the girls at Madam Mamie’s, don’t you?”

  Doc got a little smile, and his face turned kinda pinkish. “Yes, I do. Did you have questions about that establishment, or about the ladies who work there?”

  Tom opened his mouth to answer, but a yelp came out instead. Doc paused in his poking. Before Doc could apologize, Tom said, “I’ve had questions for a while now. Like, what sort of girls work there? How are they different from other girls?”

  Doc chewed his lip for a minute and then said, “They’re not so different from the girls you know. They have their various reasons for getting into their line of work, and some of those reasons aren’t happy ones. A few may act hardened, but it’s usually a fairly superficial pose.” While Tom tried to remember what “superficial” meant, Doc smiled again and said, “Come to think of it, I recall one lively young woman there who might be your very type. . . . Are you considering patronizing Mamie’s establishment?” When Tom looked blank, he rephrased. “Thinking of going there as a customer?”

  It was Tom’s turn to blush. His first try at answering came out more of a stammer. On the second try, he managed to say, “Not exactly thinking of it. But it’s crossed my mind a time or two, as a someday thing.”

  Meanwhile, Doc had been smearing some sort of ointment on Tom’s stump. Now he wiped off the extra, fetched the wooden leg, and put it back in place, moving careful so’s he wouldn’t hurt Tom more than needful. Once he’d done that, he went over to his doctor’s bag and fished around in it, bringing out a small thin box. “Here. For whenever you go from thinking to doing, you should use these. They’re called French letters. Have you heard of them before?”

  Tom shook his head, trying to figure why he would want to hand a painted lady something in French. Doc opened the box and pulled out something like a sack, except a lot smaller and almost see-through. He held it up and said, “I keep the ladies as healthy as I can, but they have plenty of chances to catch diseases they could spread to customers. If you should become one of those customers, even just once, you should put this over your member before it has a chance to touch the lady’s personal parts. It could save you a lot of trouble.”

  Tom stared at the little sack. He was supposed to sit there in front of the girl with his tallywag hanging out and put that thing on? What if he made a mess of it, and she laughed at him?

  Doc seemed to guess what he was worrying on. Putting the French letter back in the box, he said, “Back when I was a customer as well as the ladies’ doctor, I used these every time.” He paused, his face wrinkling like he’d tasted something sour, before going on, “They’ve gotten harder to obtain lately, due to a wrongheaded federal law I won’t bore you with describing, but I had plenty of them when I stopped needing them. In any event, most of Mamie’s ladies are used to them, and could even help you put one on. Which is more pleasant, in my experience, than doing it for oneself.”

  If Tom had imagined as hard as he could all the day long, he’d never have imagined this conversation. But he took the box when Doc held it out to him.

  “Now let’s get you on your feet and see how your stump is feeling.” Doc stood up and waited for Tom to do the same. The stump still pained him some, but a sight less than earlier.

  “Thanks, Doc. I’d best be getting on my way.”

  Doc patted his shoulder. “Take another muffin with you. Clara will be pleased to know you enjoyed them.”

  Tom was more than happy to oblige. It’d help take his mind off the rest of the road.

  Chapter 4

  Before Finch set himself up as a cordwainer and started making shoes, he’d made himself a reputation for good solid saddles. Folks still came to him to fix their saddles or make new ones. The cowboy who came in whistling this morning had come by two weeks earlier, about a week after Tom started work, with a saddle that’d had the hell beat out of it over some years. Finch showed Tom how to measure it, and then set to making the replacement.

  Tom had always known saddles came expensive, but now he could see why. They needed a deal of work. Finch had Tom do much of it, what didn’t need fine handling — cleaning the hides, rough cutting the wood for the saddle tree, brushing on glue, crimping the edges
of the horn top, pounding tacks, sanding. He almost got to shave some edges, but Finch got nervous at the last minute and did it all himself.

  Then there was warming up water, hauling the saddle seat into it and back out again, draping the seat around the saddle tree, strapping it down, and sewing through four layers of leather.

  Much of the work had to be done standing at or bending over the stand the saddle tree stood on. Much as Tom liked helping them as rode for a living, he paid pretty dear for it in pain. Not that he was going to tell Finch as much.

  The cowboy came in as Tom was doing the last part of the job, rubbing oil into the leather to protect it and give it more color. Tom polished over where Finch had carved the cowboy’s initials and the brand of the ranch he rode for and then, finally, stood back. He wouldn’t sit down until the cowboy left.

  The cowboy gave Tom a friendly slap on the shoulder. Then, a grin stretching his face, he made for Finch and shook his hand. “Now that’s a fine saddle. They were right as sent me to you.”

  The cowboy pulled coins out of his vest pocket and gave them to Finch, who looked mighty gratified to get them. Finch tucked the coins away in his own vest and asked the cowboy, “Are you taking this fine saddle with you now, or spending some time in town first?”

  The cowboy guffawed. “Oh, I’m not leavin’ town without a meal Cookie didn’t make and a visit to that fancy parlor house! But I’d best go to the barber first and clean up some, or they won’t let me in the door.” He turned back to Tom. “Just look at you, eyes wide as dinner plates! Ain’t you been to Mamie’s, a big fellow like you? You come along with me, why don’t you?”

  Finch sidled up to the cowboy and muttered in his ear. It didn’t take hearing it to know what Finch was saying. Tom clenched his fists and his teeth, and walked a few steps away to make sure he didn’t punch out his boss. But the cowboy laughed again and said, “Naah, he don’t need two whole legs for it! Hell, there used to be a fellow on our crew that lost a leg to a wild bronc, and he spent himself broke on calico queens every payday.”