Miss Lily's Boarding House Read online

  Nausea rose in his throat, and he set his beer down. He pulled several bills from his pocket, tossed them on the bar, then headed for the door. He needed time alone to digest this new information. “Beer for everyone, barkeep.”

  Chapter 2

  When the Sheriff raised his hand to knock on the front door, Grace’s heart thumped against her chest. For some unknown reason, she was afraid of what she’d find. Her common sense returned, and she told herself to stop being a fraidy cat.

  No one answered, and Johnson knocked again.

  “We’re closed. Go away,” a voice shouted from inside. “Come back tonight.”

  Closed? At this hour of the day? Grace shifted her weight to her other foot.

  “Open the door, Maggie. It’s Ben Johnson.”

  The door opened, and an older gray-haired, gray-clad woman stood there, rubbing her eyes. “It’s early, Ben. What do you want?” When she saw Grace, her eyes widened. “Who’s she?”

  Her tone of voice raised Grace’s ire. She straightened to her full height and glared at the woman. “My name is Grace Wentworth. My aunt owned this house.”

  The woman frowned, then her face broke into a smile. “Oh my, oh my. Little Gracie. Well, sure and begorra, tis you. All grown up.”

  Grace’s brows knotted together into a frown. “You…you know me? Who are you?”

  “Yes, I know you. Why, I was there the day you were born. All blond-haired and bare-assed.”

  “Your language is reprehensible,” Grace said in her most disapproving voice.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget me manners. I’m Margaret McBride. Everybody calls me Maggie. I was your aunt’s…er…housekeeper, for all these years.”

  Shards of memories flooded Grace’s mind. Warm memories. An Irish brogue singing to her, rocking her to sleep, comforting her. She wrinkled her forehead, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. It was all so long ago.

  “You remember, don’t you, Gracie? It’s been a long time since I bounced you on me knee.”

  “I… I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Stars swirled before Grace’s eyes, and she slumped against the door.

  Randolph stepped forward and took her arm. “We’re so sorry for your loss. Maggie, get her a drink of water.”

  “Oh, my, my. I don’t know what’s wrong with me manners. Come in, child.” She grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled her inside. “You must be exhausted, Gracie. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “My name is Grace.”

  “Sorry, dear. Old habits are hard to break.”

  “Let’s go into Lily’s office so we can talk,” Randolph said as he pushed his way inside.

  Grace shook her head. “Mr. Randolph, please. I’ve just now arrived in town. I’m hot and I’m tired and I’d like a bath. You’ve been most kind, but I can’t deal with this right now. I just want to rest.”

  “But—”

  “We can come back later,” the Sheriff said. “Let’s go, Randolph.”

  Reluctantly it seemed, the two men left the house.

  After they left, Maggie turned to her. “I’ll show you to your room and you can freshen up.”

  “No. I want to talk to you. Not them. Not today.”

  “All right then. Let’s go into your aunt’s office. We can talk there.” Maggie led the way down the hall and into a large room.

  To Grace’s surprise, the room was elegantly furnished in a very business-like manner. A huge mahogany desk occupied the center of the room, complete with leather blotter, ink well and quill pen. A stack of papers sat in a wooden tray. An ornate clock hung on the far wall. Two leather chairs faced the desk while matching mahogany cabinets flanked a back wall. A huge fireplace covered a side wall. Heavy damask curtains blocked the bright Texas sun.

  No chintz-covered chairs, no frilly doilies, no lace curtains. Grace wrinkled her brow. This definitely didn’t match her perception of her aunt.

  “I’ll have Cook make us some tea, then we can talk.” Without waiting for an answer, Maggie scurried from the room.

  Pictures on the mantel caught Grace’s attention. She walked over to the fireplace for a better look. Pictures of her lined the polished wood. Her as a baby, a small child and as a young woman back in Philadelphia. Pictures of her and Aunt Lily. Her breath caught in her throat. Had her aunt really cared?

  “She was proud of you, you know,” Maggie’s voice broke into her reverie.

  Despite Grace’s resolve to keep her feelings to herself, they broke through. She whirled to face the older woman. “Then why wouldn’t she let me come live with her?” Grace fisted her hand and stuck it in her pocket. “She didn’t want me around.”

  “That’s not true, Gracie. She wanted to protect you. She planned to go live with you in Philadelphia in a few years, but she got…sick and went real quick like. Weren’t nothing we could do.”

  “What was it? How did she die?”

  “She got the fever, and the doctor did all he could, but….”

  “Did…did…she suffer?” Grace walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back. Bright beams of light flooded the room.

  “Aye.”

  The anguish in Maggie’s voice was unmistakable. “I should’ve been here with her.”

  “Aye. She would’ve liked that, but she didn’t want you to see her…all sick like. Why, she wouldn’t even leave the house unless she was all fancied up, what with her attire perfect and not a hair out of place. You know how she was.”

  “I thought I did.” Grace let the curtain fall back into place, and she turned to the older woman. “But what was she protecting me from? I know it’s not real civilized out here, but I could have learned to like it. I would have tried really hard.”

  Maggie’s face closed down, and she walked toward the door. Grace followed her and grabbed her arm. “Maggie, what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing, honey.”

  But when the woman wouldn’t look at her, Grace knew something was wrong. A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach. All during the long trip out here, she’d sensed her aunt had harbored secrets, and now she was sure of it.

  The door burst open, and the room filled with women.

  “Is she here?”

  “Cook said somebody just came in. Is it her?”

  Grace’s mouth gaped open. Five women milled around her, all in various stages of undress. A flush warmed her cheeks, and she stepped backward. “Who are you?”

  The tall, brassy blond who looked to be the oldest stepped forward. “Why, we’re Lily’s girls. I’m Lottie. I was with your aunt for six years.” She motioned at the woman next to her—a brunette in a blue silk gown. “This here is Frenchy. She’s from Paris, France. Then next to her is Su Ling. She ain’t been here but a year. And her,” she pointed to the woman slumped in the chair, her bare leg draped over the armrest, “that’s Kate. There’s one more girl, Goldie. She’s still asleep upstairs.”

  Thoroughly nonplussed, Grace retreated behind the desk. “You work here at the boarding house?”

  Lottie answered. “Yeah. Didn’t you hear me? We’re Lily’s girls.”

  “What does that mean? Are you housekeepers? Cooks? Why are you dressed like that? It’s disgraceful.”

  The women stared at each other, then broke into laughter. They laughed until tears streamed down their cheeks. Maggie stepped forward and scowled at them. “You all shut your mouths.”

  “But, Maggie, zis woman, what she talk about?” Frenchy asked. “She is crazy, non?”

  “Oh, we’re housekeepers all right,” Lottie said. “We make the beds.”

  Another burst of laughter flooded the room.

  Maggie wagged her finger at them. “That’s enough. You all go to your rooms. Now. I’ll take care of this.”

  Grace fixed her gaze on Maggie. “What’s going on here?”

  “Oh, Gracie, I didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to tell you…later.”

  “Tell me what?” Grace
stomped her foot. “What?”

  “Gracie, this is a bordello.”

  “A what?”

  “A whore house.”

  Grace stumbled backward and collapsed into the chair. Her breath caught in her throat. “No, no, I don’t believe you. It’s a boarding house. Aunt Lily said it was a boarding house. She would never…” Her voice trailed off. But deep in her heart, she knew it was true. She’d sensed Aunt Lily had her secrets, but never in Grace’s wildest dreams would she have guessed it was something like this. Maybe a lost love or something, but a whore house?

  Stars danced before her eyes, and blackness closed around her.

  ****

  Logan made his way to the livery, saddled his horse and rode slowly out of town. Having been in a stall for two days, the big buckskin was ready to run. Logan gave him his head, and the horse covered the distance to his father’s ranch in half the time it normally would have taken.

  As he rode, he mulled over the comments he’d heard in the saloon. He was glad he’d gone into town first—now he was mentally prepared for what he’d find at the ranch. If that were possible. He passed the sign that said he was now on the Double Bar B, his father’s ranch. The Double Bar B stood for the name Barnett and his mother Barbara. When Logan was young, he’d thought the name corny, but now he could understand it. His mother had been the most important thing in his father’s life.

  He crossed Sandy Creek, a wide flowing river with clear water. Cattle grazed on the grassy riverbank for as far as he could see. Whose cattle? And what were they doing on the Double Bar B? Someone was sure taking advantage of his father’s death. He rode closer to catch a glimpse of the brand. He didn’t recognize it, but made a mental note of it.

  The house came into view, and Logan reined in his horse. It looked the same as he remembered except that the grass was overgrown and the corral was empty. The barn door stood ajar. The only sign of life was several chickens pecking around the yard.

  Emotions warred in his chest. Anger, rage, confusion…and regret. And the last was the bitterest pill to swallow.

  After a moment, he urged the buckskin forward, stopped in front of the house and dismounted. The door had been pulled from its hinges and now gaped open like an ugly wound. He pushed it aside, stepped into the room and stopped. A twister would have landed in the house and done less damage. Broken furniture lay everywhere. The sofa had been upturned, the cushions slashed. The table and chairs had been tossed against the wall. His mother’s favorite lamp had been smashed into a thousand pieces, and the sight of her cherished teacups all over the floor had him clenching his fists. He made his way into the bedroom and found the same destruction.

  Logan marched over to the bureau, or what used to be the bureau. He pushed it aside, knelt and groped for the loose boards. He pried them up and saw an empty hole where once his father had kept everything valuable—money, his wife’s jewelry and all his important papers, including the deed to the ranch.

  And now everything was gone.

  When he returned to the living room, a huge stain on the floor caught his attention. He knelt beside the dark wood and touched it, then jerked his hand back.

  Blood stains.

  His father’s blood?

  Bile rose in his throat, and he raced outside and threw up. When finally he could breathe, he returned to the house. His father’s liquor cabinet, while upended, was still intact. Logan found a bottle of whiskey which had escaped destruction, opened it and took a long drink. Then another. And another. Knowing that he couldn’t hide in the bottle, he capped it and sat it on top of the cabinet.

  He left the house, walked to the barn and glanced inside. Silence greeted him. He left the barn and climbed the rocky slope to his father’s grave. He owed Bob Morgan a debt of gratitude for taking care of…the body. He’d ride over tomorrow and thank him.

  As he neared the wooden cross atop the mound of dirt, Logan’s steps faltered. He wanted to flee and cursed himself for being a coward. But he had to say his…goodbyes. He knelt by the grave. Tears streamed down his cheeks, the first time he’d cried in many years. “Pa, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you…and Ma. I wasn’t the son I should’ve been.” He grabbed a handful of dirt, then let it fall slowly through his fingers. “But I promise you one thing: whoever did this will pay for it—and pay dearly. I swear it.”

  He shoved himself to his feet and returned to the house. Two hours later, he had it in some semblance of order. Knowing he couldn’t sleep in the house with all the memories, Logan made camp under a large oak by the barn. He was more accustomed to being outdoors anyway. He unsaddled his horse, fed him and then turned him out in the corral. After a supper of bacon and beans, Logan spread his blanket and lay back against his saddle. He stretched his legs out, stared up at the star-filled sky and pondered the events of the day.

  His father’s last letters had hinted of trouble. Some people had been pushing Tom Barnett to sell his ranch, and mysterious things had happened. Cattle and horses had been run off, brush fires had started out of nowhere, and he’d seen footprints around his house. The bank had called the mortgage note. Had his father been able to pay it? Logan muttered a low curse.

  Without warning, a face floated through his mind. The blond-haired woman who’d gotten off the stage—and her reception by Randolph and Johnson. What did it all mean? Did they normally personally welcome the town whores? She definitely wasn’t the run of the mill whore—too classy, too snobbish. Somehow he had to finagle a way to meet her. He had a hunch she held the key to this mess. With a tired sigh, Logan cleared his mind. He pulled his hat down over his head and drifted toward sleep.

  Chapter 3

  Dusk settled over Dry Springs, washing the land in gold and mauve hues. Grace heaved a sigh and turned from the window. She sat in the leather chair behind her aunt’s desk. She hated what she had to do next, but she had no choice. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to keep the brothel, er, boarding house, open. And now she had to face Lily’s girls and tell them she would be selling the property as soon as possible and returning to Philadelphia. Maggie had suggested she wait, but Grace didn’t want to be under the same roof as the harlots longer than was absolutely necessary.

  A low knock sounded on the door, and Grace’s heart jumped in her chest. She hated confrontations, but she had to go through with this. Putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier. The door opened, and Maggie stepped into the room, followed by the other women. Warmth crept up Grace’s neck and across her face when she saw their dress-or undress. Their faces were painted, cheeks rosy and mouths bright splashes of color. Feathers adorned their hair while the low-cut gowns revealed a wide expanse of bosom and the short skirts showed ankles and legs.

  Indecent! Intolerable!

  “Please sit down,” Grace said.

  “No, thanks,” Lottie retorted, her mouth puckered up like a prune. “I’d rather stand. I got me a feeling I ain’t gonna like what you got to say.”

  “Now, Lottie,” Maggie interrupted, “let her talk before you jump down her throat.”

  Su Ling stepped forward, her young face full of concern, her slanted almond eyes holding a hint of fear. “Lottie, why you say that?”

  “Because she’s going to tell us she’s closing us down,” Kate added. “Ain’t you?”

  Their accusing stares unnerved Grace. She faced Maggie, hoping the older woman would support her. But Maggie’s face was as hostile as the others.

  “Miss Goodie Two Shoes,” Kate went on, “don’t like being associated with us whores. She done forgot a lot of that money Lily used to send her for her fancy clothes and schooling was what we made—on our backs.”

  Grace sucked in a deep breath. She’d never even considered that. “No, no, it’s just that, well, our values are different.”

  “But where will we go?” Su Ling burst into tears. “I have nowhere to go.”

  “I do,” Lottie stalked over to the fireplace. “To the hog ranch.”

  Grace wrinkled her br
ow. “Why would you go there? They’re disgusting, dirty animals.”

  Lottie barked out a harsh laugh. “You don’t know nothing, do you? A hog ranch is where old whores like me go to…die.”

  “No, Lottie.” Frenchy rushed over and hugged the blond. “Zee must not go there. We will find somewhere else.”

  “I’m too old. No one wants me anymore. Lily only kept me on because she took pity on me.” Her lips pinched into a thin line.

  Grace wanted to flee the room before she too burst into tears. These women’s stories moved her, yet she couldn’t close her eyes to their profession. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to sell…everything, but I’ll see to it that you all get a share of the proceeds. That way you can make a new start, go to a new town or go home to your families.”

  The woman called Goldie spoke for the first time. “You don’t understand. We don’t have any family, at least none who will claim us.” She waved a hand at the others. “They’re my family.” She stood. “Are we open tonight?”

  Five faces turned to Grace.

  But before she could answer, Lottie spoke. “At least let us make some traveling money.”

  “It’s Saturday night, the busiest night of the week,” Kate added, her face as red as her hair. “What could one more night hurt?”

  Grace glanced at Maggie who nodded her head. “Very well,” she conceded. “You can…do…whatever…”

  Lottie led the way out of the room. After they left, Grace faced Maggie. “I feel awful, but I just can’t—”

  “That’s all right, honey. You’ve made the right decision. Sell this place as soon as you can and go back to Philadelphia.” She leaned over and patted Grace’s hand. “Lily never wanted you to know. The girls don’t mean to be so hateful. They’re just scared. Especially Lottie. She ain’t had an easy life. None of them have.”

  Like I have? Well, I may have had someone to provide for me, but I never really had a family.

  “Take Lottie,” Maggie continued. “She used to be married, but her husband beat her bad so she ran off. She wasn’t educated and couldn’t find no other job. And Su Ling, her father sold her to a madam for twenty-five dollars. She was only thirteen at the time. Lily took her in and took care of her. Don’t know much about Kate and Goldie ’cuz they won’t talk about their past. Frenchy followed a man from Paris to America, had a kid and then he left her—and took the kid. She went on a drinking binge for a long time and somehow ended up in Dry Springs.”