23 July 1869
"And on this joyous summer's day, as we all come together to praise the Lord for all his merciful bounties, we give thanks for the travellers, those who are brave enough to forge new paths and seek out new wonders. We ask that the Lord bless them in their journeys."
Eloise felt her face start to flame as Reverend Johnstone smiled down at her from the alter of the church, his message clearly meant for her in a kind way, but which only served to embarrass her. Around her, many of the townsfolk also turned to smile at her, others looked at her more curiously, and she prayed fervently for him to move on to another aspect of the service.
"With that all mind, let us lift our voices and sing All Things Bright and Beautiful."
As the pianist began to play and everyone around rose to sing, Eloise found herself once more grateful for anonymity. She joined in with the hymn as best as she could but felt fatigued from the previous evening. She recalled going to bed and falling asleep, only for her dreams to be peppered with his face, the face of her assailant, only this time there had been no-one there to save her and she had felt him violate her in the manner that she had expected him to. Then she remembered awakening, seeing a man above her, and believing that her dream was about to become a reality, fighting back. It was only when she had realised it was Hank and that she was safe inside the room that the initial fear had subsided.
Though he had made a show of checking that there was no-one lurking within, she had been afraid to fall asleep again and had paced the room for hours, occasionally glancing out of the window or opening the now broken door to ensure no-one was in the corridor outside. Every time she tried to lie down and close her eyes, her heart would start to beat faster, and her chest grow tight, as though she couldn't breathe. Eventually, however, sleep must have claimed her, and she then woke with a start, finding herself half sitting, half lying on the bed. She had dressed quickly, choosing her best dress and hat and then ventured out into the deserted bar, finding herself somewhat disappointed that Hank wasn't within.
And so, she had left the relative safety of the saloon and made her way to the church, feeling comforted by its essence as she had stepped inside and Dorothy had approached her, beckoning her to sit with her and Loren. The sunny morning, the welcome of kind people and God's spirit helped her push the memories to the back of her mind and, for that, she was grateful.
"And now let us all go in peace," the Reverend said. "Amen."
"Amen," the congregation chorused before rising, as one, and making their way to the door.
"It was a lovely service Reverend," she said, shaking his hand on the steps. "Thank you for making me feel welcome."
"Not at all, it's a joy to have you amongst us," he replied. "I hope, if you remain in town, that you become a regular attendee."
"Yes, well…thank you again."
"Now you must come to the café for lunch with us," Dorothy said, moving alongside her.
"I wouldn't want to impose."
"Of course it's no imposition. Besides, it's too beautiful a day to be cooped up in…well…the saloon."
Eloise found herself poised to laugh at the expression on the other woman's face. The way the saloon was often spoken about seemed to convey something entirely different as to how she felt. Of course, she knew what went on there, and disapproved of much of it, but no-one seemed capable of understanding how she might see it as a refuge.
"Oh, and this is Myra and Horace," Dorothy said, touching her arm whereupon she looked to see a tall man and petite woman smiling at her.
"Of course, you got married a few days ago," Eloise said, "Congratulations."
"Yes, we did," Horace replied, "and thank you. Heard you came all the way from San Francisco."
"Yes, I did."
"Must have been one heck of a journey."
"You could say that."
"And what do you think of Colorado Springs?" Myra asked.
"It's a lovely town, so pretty and quiet. Very different from back home."
"I've always wanted to travel," Myra mused. "Never been any further than Denver in my life."
"Well, you have time," Eloise said.
"Oh, this is my home now, with Horace." Myra looked at her husband and Eloise couldn't help but feel a slight stab of jealousy at how he returned her affectionate gaze. That was what had been missing entirely from her interactions with Thomas and yet what she had always witnessed between her parents.
"And what do you do in town, Horace?"
"Oh, I run the telegraph office."
"That's a very important role."
"It sure is."
"And you, Myra?"
"Oh….well, I…"
"Myra keeps house," Horace replied for her. "And does a wonderful job of it too." Myra nodded in agreement, though Eloise couldn't help but sense that her eyes told a different story. "Folks said that you're staying at the saloon?"
"Yes, I am, or at least I have done for the last few nights."
"Don't you think that's kind of risky?"
"Risky?"
"Well, yeah, I mean with everything that goes on in there, you being a woman and, well, Hank…"
"Horace…" Myra said warningly.
"What about Hank?" Eloise heard herself say.
"Well, he…I mean…you should just be mindful," Horace stammered, "that's all I'm saying."
"Horace…" Myra said again, "don't take no heed of him. I don't doubt for one minute that you'll be perfectly safe at the saloon given what you are and who you are."
"What does that mean?"
"Eloise," Dorothy reappeared at her elbow. "Shall we go?"
Though part of her was curious as to Myra's meaning and eager to hear more, Eloise found herself bidding them goodbye and following her companion back across the bridge towards the café, most of the other townsfolk following suit. As a result, the café was busy, and Dorothy steered them to a table where Michaela was already sitting.
"Morning Eloise," she greeted her warmly.
"Morning Dr Quinn."
"Oh please, call me Michaela."
"Michaela," Eloise repeated, taking her seat.
"Did you enjoy the service?"
"Yes, very much. The Reverend's a good preacher, so different from those I've had to listen to back home." She paused. "Are these your children?"
"Yes, this is Colleen and Brian," Michaela gestured to them in turn. "My eldest Matthew played truant this morning."
"He's too busy fixing up his homestead, for when he gets married," Brian piped up.
"Well, I suppose that takes a lot of work," Eloise replied.
"You look tired," Michaela commented as Grace came over and filled their cups with coffee.
"I didn't sleep too well last night."
"Must be so terribly noisy in the saloon," Dorothy remarked. "I'm surprised anyone gets any sleep in there."
"Oh no, it was after hours. I just…couldn't seem to drift off."
"Well, my offer of a room at the clinic still stands," Michaela said. "I know you said that you felt obliged to stay at the saloon last night but, well now…"
"I think I'm going to remain at the saloon," Eloise heard herself say, both women looking at her in surprise. "I'm settled there now and, well, there's really nothing wrong with it."
"But there's a big poker game tomorrow," Dorothy said. "Folks coming from all over, drinking, gambling…and with Hank being the worst of the lot, there's no telling what might go on in there."
"What do you mean, about Hank being the worst of the lot?"
"Well, I…I just mean that…"
"What?"
"I suppose…" Dorothy's gaze moved over her shoulder and Eloise half-turned in her seat to see Horace and Myra passing by the café, arms around one another, Myra gazing up at him again. "I just mean that it ain't necessarily safe for a woman like you to be in there with all those men, especially if Hank's distracted or drunk himself. Michaela, you understand what I'm getting at, don't you?"
"I think what Dorothy's trying to say is that…well…we know Hank and…"
"You believe he might force himself on me?"
"No, but if he were too drunk to be mindful, someone else might."
"That doesn't make him the worst of the lot." She watched as the two women exchanged glances and found her feelings pulled in two different directions. Curiosity mingled with a strange sense of indignation at the slur. "Please, at least do me the courtesy of speaking freely."
"Alright…" Michaela took a breath. "Hank runs women, and he doesn't treat them very well. He ties them into contracts they have no real understanding of and makes them sleep with men they don't necessarily want to. He might claim he cares for…some of them…but he doesn't. They're nothing more than commodities to him. I'm not saying that he doesn't have his good points…" she trailed off. "You're new in town and travelling on your own…I just want you to be careful, that's all."
"Well…" Eloise replied, her head spinning slightly. "Thankfully I consider myself to have relatively good understanding, therefore I don't foresee a situation whereby I would end up signing any such…contract and…well…surely, I can only go by what I've seen of his character myself and that's been good, so far. He didn't have to help me the other evening or give me somewhere to stay or…" she trailed off, not wanting to admit the events of the previous night. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure that I'll be perfectly fine. I trust Hank."
As Grace brought their food and they began eating, she could feel the tension with the other women and suddenly found herself almost desperate to be back at the saloon.
"So, what are your plans?" Dorothy asked, in an obvious bid to clear the air. "Are you indeed passing through or staying for a while?"
"I don't know yet," Eloise replied. "I really don't know."
XXXX
Sunday being the day of rest, the girls took the opportunity every week to get as far away from the saloon as they could. It was like a ritual. They would sleep late then dress hurriedly and scurry away like rats deserting a ship, not to be seen again until sundown. It didn't bother Hank, lazy days being something he welcomed, providing the perfect opportunity for sitting on the porch drinking and smoking to his heart's content, no women around needing to be kept in check. What he didn't like to think about, or chose not to think about, was how eager they were to be away from him.
Settled as he was on the porch that morning, enjoying the silence that churchgoing folk brought to the street, his eye suddenly caught sight of Eloise making her way towards him. Having not seen her that morning, her room being empty when he had gently opened the broken door and peered inside, he found himself admiring her attire. Her dress was green, as was the hat adorning her auburn curls, the colour suiting her very well and as she drew closer, she smiled at him, an action that caused his stomach to uncharacteristically turn over.
"Bin to church I take it," he said, as she mounted the porch steps.
"How do you know I just don't always dress this way on a Sunday?"
"Do ya?"
"No." Pausing, she looked at the ground. "I was hoping I could ask you a favour."
"Ask away. Ain't no guarantee I'll say yes."
"Could I stay here? Until the stage is due to leave again on Tuesday?"
Raising her gaze to meet his once more, he detected an uncertainty in it, as though she were afraid of what answer he might give, and he paused before replying. "Made up yer mind to leave then?"
"No, not yet, but…well…could I stay? A dollar a night, as previously agreed?"
"Thought ya were considerin' stayin' at the clinic."
"I was and it was a kind offer Michaela made, and I understand why she made it but…" she dropped her gaze again. "It sounds ridiculous to say, but…I think I'd feel safer in the saloon."
"Safer with me?" She said nothing. "Well, s'pose if ya have nightmares there ain't gonna be anyone breakin' down doors in the clinic."
"I wanted to thank you for that too. I'm sorry for the trouble caused, and the damage to the door. I'll happily pay for the repair."
"Ain't no need. Weren't hardly gonna go to bed and just let ya scream. Didn't know what was goin' on in there."
"Did you really think I was being attacked?"
"Hot enough to leave yer window open," he shrugged, "not outwith the bounds of possibility that some fella, drunk on rot gut and knowin' ya's in there might not have taken his chance."
She paused. "What if it hadn't been me."
"How d'ya mean?"
"Well, what if it hadn't been me screaming but one of your girls. Would you have done the same thing?"
He met her gaze, the familiar uncertain look in her eyes causing him to believe there was more behind the question than mere curiosity. "Why ya askin'?"
"Well, I just…I suppose I just wondered…" she floundered and, rather than save her, he let her until she met his gaze again. "I suppose I just wondered if you did it because of, well, who I am."
"Who y'are? Why, who are ya?"
"No, I don't mean that I'm somebody, somebody important that is. I just meant because I'm not a…"
"Whore? Can't bring yerself to say the word?" Her face coloured again, and he rose from his chair to tower above her. "Ya think I'd just let some fella take what was mine without doin' nothin' about it? Everythin' under this roof belongs to me, Ellie, 'cept fer ya of course, and nobody gonna interfere with that, ya hear me?"
"Then why do it for me? If I don't belong to you, if I don't have a contract…?"
"Who said anythin' about contracts?" She ducked her head again and he suddenly realised that somebody, and he could wager who, had clearly been talking. "Sayin' ya want a contract?"
"No! Of course not, I…"
"Cause, ya know what a contract with me means, don't ya?"
"Yes."
"Told ya before I could charge top dollar for men in this town to fumble under yer skirts."
"I don't want a contract, I was just…"
"What did she say?"
"Who?"
"Myra."
"Myra?" She frowned, meeting his gaze again. "I met her at church, her and her husband, but she didn't…" she trailed off as realisation dawned in her eyes and he recognised that he had made a mistake in his assumptions. "Myra works for you?"
"Not anymore. Anyways, if it weren't her talkin' about me, must have been Michaela. So, what did she have to say?"
"It doesn't matter," she said, making to move past him.
"Matters to me," he replied, stepping in front of her, blocking her path back inside the saloon.
"Just that…well, that you don't always treat the girls you employ very well."
Anger flared through him. "Is that right? Well, ya don't work fer me, so you ain't gotta worry about how I treat anyone who does." Turning away, he moved back over to the chair and threw himself back down into it, lighting up another Cheroot as he did so and blowing the smoke into the warm air. It never ceased to amaze him how interfering people could be, especially Michaela. To think how often she had aroused him too.
He waited, hoping that Eloise would retreat into the saloon and leave him with his resentment, but, instead, he sensed her move closer to the chair and watched as she moved into his peripheral vision.
"No, I don't," she said softly. "I only have to worry about how you treat me and I've no complaints so far." Offering a tight smile, she turned away, pausing only when he said her name and looked back.
"Don't believe everything ya hear about me."
"I don't and I won't," she replied, before pushing open the saloon door and stepping inside, leaving him alone on the porch, agitation quickly settling in, to the point that he got to his feet hurriedly and pursued her.
"Ellie." She stopped and turned to him again. "Myra worked for me. Bin with me fer years, even 'fore I came out here. She left me to marry Horace. Tore up her contract and just…left."
"I thought a contract was legally binding."
"It is."
"Then, you could have had her arrested?"
"Yeah."
"But you didn't."
"No." He hesitated again, torn between the urge to say more and the need to keep his feelings to himself. "She…"
"You don't have to tell me anything," she said gently. "Your business is your business, just as mine is mine."
He held her gaze once more and then nodded, somewhat assured of her understanding of the situation. Moving around to the back of the bar, he reached down and picked up a hammer, conveniently stowed there in case it was ever needed. "Anyways, how bout I fix that door fer ya?"