“Less room than you’re taking up,” the knitter on the other side commented, never looking up from her work.
Before he could respond, the driver bellowed. “Crooked Bend Station comin’ up, folks.”
The passengers gathered belongings in preparation for a short break. I hope this is where he gets off.
She peered out the window. The tiny station sat in the middle of nowhere. Weather and time had reduced the pitiful building to not much more than a shanty. Cracks between the boards that formed the structure were large enough for little animals to crawl through. A lean-to rested behind the building where several horses stood, lazily swishing their tails at flies.
Empty prairie stretched for miles in all directions, dry sagebrush dotting the area. The sun beat down mercilessly, and sweat dampened her face.
After the bright sunlight, she was momentarily blinded when she entered the building. It was thankfully cooler by several degrees. The scent of food drifted in the air. Instead of enticing her, the smell made her gag.
Her vision cleared enough to notice a worn counter at the end of the narrow building. A large man, with a stained apron tied around his even larger middle, wiped the counter with a filthy rag.
Her heart thumped as she approached the counter. His immense frame and scowling features rattled her. “May I please have a drink of water?”
“Sure ‘nuf, little lady, and we got a fine rabbit stew.”
Her stomach pitched. “Nothing to eat, thank you. Just the water, if you please.”
The counterman scowled, turned and dipped a dirty cup into a barrel of water and slapped the glass in front of her. Although afraid to drin
k in the dimness, lest there be unwanted items in the water, thirst won out. Any insects in the barrel would have sunk to the bottom.
She too, had sunk to the bottom. She released a burst of high-pitched laughter. No one paid attention.
A rickety wooden table in the corner drew her. She placed the glass on the table and eased her sore and tired body onto the chair. One leg shorter than the other three, the chair rocked as she settled.
A woman the size of the counterman came through a curtain separating the area from whatever was in the back. With a brisk nod in Angel’s direction, she headed her way.
“Y’all one of them new whores Dolly’s expectin’? She asked me to look out for ya.” She jerked her thumb in the counterman’s direction. “Jedediah’ll git you out there as soon as the stage pulls out. Dolly’s sure needin’ the help. She cain’t never take a break herself.”
Angel sat in silence, her eyes wide and mouth slack as the woman continued. “Ya’ll gonna have to git rid of them black clothes, though. Dolly’ll fix ya up nice and fancy.”
Tears sprang to Angel’s eyes and she gasped, vigorously shaking her head. “No, ma’am, I am not one of the new wh-whores.” She stumbled on the word, and backed the rickety chair against the wall.
“Well, gosh darn. Thadda be a pity.” The woman shifted a wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other, expelling a stream of juice right next to Angel’s shoe. Her gaze roamed over her. “A looker like you’d make a lot of money for yerself. Men around here are dying for new faces.” Then she thought for a minute and grinned. “And new bodies, too.” She threw her head back in laughter, spaces from missing teeth exposed.
“Jedediah, git yoreself back to work.” The woman shouted in the counterman’s direction as she returned to the back area.
Angel rose from the table and quickly headed for the door. I’d rather sit in the blazing sun. What have I gotten myself into?
She leaned against the building, hoping it would take her weight, and removed the black straw hat. She waved it in front of her face, creating a slight breeze. As bad as this trip was, she certainly didn’t look forward to facing Mr. Hale with her total lack of ability to fulfill the promises Sylvia had made on her behalf.
What a muddle she created for me!
“Matt, run over to Mrs. Darby’s house and find out where the heck she is.” Nate jiggled the crying baby on his hip while he worked a comb through Luke’s tangled hair. “Boy, you need a haircut,” he grumbled as Luke yelped again. “Or better yet, a bath to wash some of this mess out of your hair.”
“Mark says he ain’t goin’ to school today.” John hopped into the room on one foot, and reached for a piece of bread from the center of the table.
“Mark!” Nate bellowed from where he stood. “Get up and get ready for school.”
“No!” came the muffled defiant voice. “I’m sick. My head hurts.”
“Here, walk her around a bit.” Nate shoved Julia-Rose at Luke. He took the stairs two at a time, and pushed open the door to the boys’ bedroom.
“What’s the matter? Are you really sick?”
“I’m sick of school.” His son glowered. “I told you before. I’m the dumbest one in the room. Everyone else can read, but every time I look at the page, nothing makes sense. I hate it.”