The Enchanted Land

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Mary’s querulous voice sounded through the wall.

  Morgan wiped her eyes. “I’m all right now. Let’s go take a bath.” She turned to smile at Jessy. “Thanks for listening to me.”

  “Morgan, I’ve decided this Seth of yours never existed.” Her face was serious. “No man could be both kind and good-lookin’.”

  Morgan flashed her a brilliant smile. “Seth is special.” Happily she raced toward the water, leaving Jessy to notice that she had said “is,” as if her husband were still alive.

  Jessy was the last one to the water and was surprised to see all of the Indian men, Jacques, and some of the Indian women standing there with the three white women.

  Jacques’s deep laughter came to her. “My Indians do not take baths, and they are very much interested in someone who does. They want only to watch.”

  “Well, I ain’t takin’ my clothes off in front of no Indians.” Mary turned back toward the camp.

  Jessy laughed. “What about you, Morgan? I think bugs have nested under my skin, it’s been so long since I took a bath. I’m not gonna let a few staring Indians keep me from getting clean.” She sat on the ground and began to pull off the tall moccasins. Seconds after she stood up, she was completely naked and ran happily into the cool water.

  The other three women had watched speechlessly. The Indians and Jacques began to laugh as Jessy happily dived under the water, her smooth round buttocks coming to the surface.

  “It feels great,” she called.

  “She’s a fool besides being a slut,” Mary muttered. “These animals need no more temptation. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them attacked her.”

  Alice clung to Mary, her face fearful.

  “You sure you won’t join me, Morgan? I can feel two months’ worth of dirt and bugs floating away. Toss me my buckskins, will you? Might as well get them clean.”

  Morgan picked up Jessy’s clothing and started to throw them to her.

  “You know … if they wanted to, they could tear our clothes off at any time. What difference does this bath make?”

  “You’re right, Jessy.” Quickly, Morgan undressed and walked into the water.

  “Lord, Morgan! I think you’ve started a fight.” Jessy gestured toward Jacques, who was smiling at one of the Indians. The Indian made an obscene gesture that even Morgan understood, and she turned away.

  Jacques laughed and called to her. “Did you hear that, Golden One? Running Bear offers me six horses and four blankets to let you be his third wife. Would you like that? It is a good price, and he is a brave warrior.”

  Morgan looked at the Indian, his hair heavy with grease and his face stained with remnants of paint and food. Involuntarily, she shuddered. Recovering herself, she met Jacques’s eye. “Do you think Madame Nicole will offer only six horses and four blankets, or do you think I am worth more?”

  Jacques looked at her full breasts rounding above the surface of the water, her small chin and flashing eyes, and the great mass of golden hair cascading about her. He threw back his head and laughed. “You will bring a great deal more from Madame Nicole—I will make sure of that.”

  “Morgan, you have more guts than any three people put together.”

  “Not really, Jessy. It’s just that I don’t really care. If I can get to San Francisco, maybe I can escape and get back to Seth’s ranch. At least there I’ll be close to him.”

  “No matter what, Morgan, you’re lucky—lucky to have had a love like that, even for a while. Just once I’d like to fall in love with a man and have him love me in return. I mean real love, not like those men that paid my pa.”

  “Paid your father!”

  “Don’t tell Alice or Mary, but my father put me out to whore when I was thirteen. You can see why I felt no regret when the bastard died.”

  Too stunned to speak, Morgan stared.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” Jessy said quietly and began to swim away.

  “No,” Morgan caught her arm. “I was just thinking how I always hated my father, and I never even knew him. I guess we never know what we should be thankful for. If it hadn’t been for my father, I’d never even have known Seth.” She stopped and her eyes opened wider. “If I hadn’t met Seth, he would still be alive.”

  Jessy’s fingers dug into Morgan’s flesh. “Morgan! You’ve got to stop blaming yourself! You can kick yourself for the next fifty years, and you still won’t change the past. Remember Seth with all the love you have for him, but stop hating yourself.”

  Morgan frowned at Jessy. “Are you sure you’re only sixteen? You sound more like ninety.”

  Jessy laughed. “Let’s get out of here before they change their minds about leaving us alone.”

  They finished their baths and washed their hair and clothes. They put the wet buckskins on their bodies to dry. The sun was barely visible on the horizon, streaked with brilliant colors. As Morgan sat by the campfire in front of the wickiup, trying to smooth the tangles from her hair with only her fingers, Little Flower came to stand beside her. Absent-mindedly, Morgan smiled at the young Indian woman. Little Flower left and returned in seconds holding a beautiful tortoise-shell comb. She gestured to Morgan and Morgan nodded. Little Flower sat behind the blond woman and began combing her long tresses, while Morgan held the baby.

  “What do you think you’re doing, letting that animal touch you?”

  Morgan hardly noticed Mary’s anger, preferring to ignore it. Mary turned away in a huff.

  When Little Flower had finished, Morgan asked to borrow Little Flower’s knife. After a second’s hesitation, she gave it to her. Morgan cut off a thick golden curl and tied it with a long piece of grass. She put the piece of hair into the fastenings at the top of the baby’s cradle board.

  Immediately, Little Flower grabbed the cradle board and ran to show the other Indian women and her husband.

  “What’s going on? What’s all the noise about?” Jessy asked.

  Morgan laughed, looking down at the baby pulling at the thong ties on her shirt. She told Jessy about the piece of hair.

  “Well, it must mean somethin’, ’cause here comes the bossman himself.”

  Jacques explained to Morgan that the piece of hair was considered a great gift and she was to choose a gift in return.

  “I’d like my freedom.”

  “That is not Little Flower’s to give. Choose something else.”

  “I don’t want a gift, just her friendship.”

  “She will be insulted that you do not accept a gift from her.” At the look of puzzlement on Morgan’s face, he turned and spoke to the pretty Indian woman with a few soft words. Her face brightened and she ran to her wickiup.

  Quickly, she returned and handed Morgan a silver and turquoise bracelet. The turquoise was a work of art, worked inside the metal in hundreds of little ovals, like daisies going round and round. The bracelet was surprisingly delicate.

  “It was taken from a Zuñi warrior. They make beautiful things, no?”

  “Tell Little Flower it is beautiful, and I thank her very much.”

  When Jacques had repeated her words, Morgan leaned over and kissed the Indian woman’s cheek. Little Flower said something.

  “She says you are now sisters.”

  “Sisters! Bah! Sisters to these filthy wretches! I’d rather be dead!”

  Jacques turned to Mary’s scowling face. “For you, that may be arranged very soon.”

  Later, Morgan always hated to remember the trip across the desert. Never had she imagined such a horrible place existed. They broke camp before full daylight and camped again before the hottest part of the day. There were no more campfires. The rich stews they had enjoyed were now memories. They ate dried meat and dried cornmeal. Water was strictly rationed, and the dry food stuck in their throats.

  Morgan clamped her hands over her ears to block out the whimpering of Little Flower’s baby. His mother did not have enough water to replenish her milk supply, so the baby wa
s hungry. Morgan shared her water with Little Flower until Jacques found out.

  “Do you think I go to all the trouble of bringing you across the mountains just to have you blow away? If you give more of your water away, I will kill the squaw and then the baby will have no milk at all.”

  One good thing came of the journey across the desert. Jessy and Mary stopped quarreling for a while, neither had the energy for it. During the hot afternoon, they lay in the scanty shade, barely able to breathe the scorching air. The horses were kept under crude shelters, rigged each day.

  Eventually, gradually, they began to encounter green plants and they knew that San Francisco was near. Morgan felt the ring she kept on a rawhide thong around her neck, and dreamed of Seth.

  Early one morning, Jacques and two of the Indians saddled horses for the four women captives, and, leaving the other Indians in camp, they began the last leg of the trek into San Francisco.

  Chapter Fourteen

  AFTER three days of hard riding, they arrived in San Francisco in the dead of night. Jacques led them down alleys to the side of a three-story frame house. The women were too tired to notice much about their surroundings. A small, pretty mulatto girl opened the door.

  “Get Madame Nicole right away. Tell her Jacques is come.”

  The girl scurried away, and quickly a large-breasted woman with masses of coal-black hair appeared in the doorway. Her skin was beautiful, flawless and unlined. She might have been beautiful, except that she weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Surprisingly, she carried her weight as if she were a young girl. Her walk was graceful and her movements were delicate.

  “Jacques! How good to see you!” Her voice was pretty and young. There was a slight French accent that was very becoming.

  Jacques threw his arms around Madame Nicole and lifted her enormous body off the ground. The woman blushed like a schoolgirl. “Jacques—you devil! How I have missed you!” She slid down across his body to plant a kiss on his mouth. After several seconds, they broke their embrace.

  “There aren’t many real women left,” he said, giving the large woman a knowing look. “So I brought some of those skinny little gals those half-men of yours like. I think you’re really going to like one of ’em.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “I am not about to lose you, am I, Jacques?”

  He smiled at her, looking her up and down. “It’d take all four of them to make half the woman you are.”

  She smiled at him, a smile of pure joy. “Later we will find out if you mean your words. But first, business.” Immediately, she changed from lover to business-woman, and assessed each of the tired, dirty women.

  “The blonde, oui?”

  Jacques winked his reply. “Could hardly keep my Apaches from her. Real looker when she’s clean.”

  “Good! They are just in time for Christmas. We are going to make four men very happy this Christmas.”

  Madame Nicole clapped her hands twice, many bracelets flashing. Instantly, four serving girls appeared. She gave orders, and Morgan found herself escorted up some narrow stairs to a bedroom. The sight of the bed, the first she had seen in months, held her entranced. She walked toward it as if hypnotized.

  “No, no!” The girl took Morgan’s arm. “Madame will not allow anyone so dirty to sleep in her clean bed. Carrie will bring water. You must bathe first.” She led Morgan to a chair and moved a screen to reveal a large, red porcelain tub on gold claw feet. The girl, Carrie, arrived, and soon the tub was full of steaming hot water. Morgan allowed herself to be undressed and then she stepped into the tub.

  The water seemed to soak through her body, even to her bones, and she enjoyed the rough scrubbing the girls gave her skin and scalp. She was stepping out of the tub into a heated towel when Madame Nicole entered.

  The large woman appraised her as if she were a piece of furniture. “Ooh la la! You are by far the best of the four. In fact, you may be the best I have ever presented. You will bring a very high price.”

  Morgan stared at her in contempt. “What right have you to sell anyone? I am a person, not an article of merchandise.”

  The big woman threw back her head and laughed. “So, a crusader. I sometimes forget that such as you still exist. So often the women Jacques brings me have lived in poverty all their lives. They find all this”—her hand took in the room—“a dream. They like the luxury and the cleanliness.”

  Morgan clenched her teeth. “But your people kill their families! My husband was killed.”

  “Oh, yes, that is necessary.” She dismissed the subject. “We cannot have angry relatives coming after our women. I would lose all my clients. Anyway, men are easily replaced.”

  “Not all men!”

  “So you had not been with your lover long enough for the bloom to wear off. After your hands had cracked from the lye soap, and your body had worn out from bearing his children, you would be glad to trade for a life like this.”

  “No matter what, this is a whorehouse! I won’t be used!”

  “The women Jacques brings me, I do not use here in my house. They are sold to very wealthy men. They often marry well later, or if their lover tires of them, he settles sums on them that leave them comfortable for the rest of their lives.” She paused and stared at Morgan. “Yes, you will do very well. You are even prettier when you are filled with rage.”

  Nicole took a few steps to the mirror and watched as the servant girls finished drying Morgan and dressing her in a pink gown. “You see, I like to know my girls, and I try to pick men who will fit their types. Your Jessica already loves it here. It will be easy to find a man for her. And Alice … we will find her an older man, one who will protect her and pet her, and she will be very happy. Mary needs a man to hit her now and then.

  “And you, Morgan? What type are you?”

  Morgan glared at her. “I am not any ‘type.’ I am a person and I cannot be put into a category.”

  “Ah, but you have just described yourself. You need a man who will tell you his problems. One who will listen to you and to whom you can listen. And as a lover, you need one who will let you plan the moves sometimes, one who will let you control him sometimes, but not too often.”

  Morgan stared at her in astonishment. She was too close to the truth. Embarrassed, she turned away from the woman. She saw too much.

  Nicole laughed. “You see, I am right. Every woman and every man fit into little niches. The world is too old for anything to be new. Come now, get into bed. We want you pretty and fresh tomorrow. There are a lot of things to do to prepare for our Christmas special.”

  In spite of her anger, Morgan fell asleep instantly.

  For three days, Morgan lived amid a flurry of dressmakers. After a while she got used to standing nude in front of several women and even an occasional man, as they wrapped fabric around her and pinned things in place. She was not allowed out of her room or to see the other three captives. She missed Jessy and wished they could talk.

  After the first three days she was left alone, but was still not allowed to leave the room. She found the door unlocked, but when she started out the portal, her way was barred by an enormous black man who held a whip coiled in his hand. Madame Nicole informed her later that Samson would always be there. He seemed never to sleep.

  They gave her one of Mrs. Weston’s latest romantic novels to read, but she angrily tossed the book aside after a few chapters. She could not read about flowers and romance when her own life was so harsh.

  When the first of the dresses was finished, Madame Nicole informed Morgan of a tea to be given in their honor. There they were to meet some of the eligible young men of San Francisco.

  Morgan marveled at the woman. She seemed to have no contact with reality as Morgan understood it. An outsider would have thought the four women were Nicole’s beloved daughters instead of her slaves.

  Morgan was led into a room of gold and white. The chairs and couches were covered in white velvet and there was a white rug on the floor. All the wood, includ
ing the mirror frames, was intricately carved and gilded.

  “Morgan!”

  She and Jessy ran to one another, their arms extended. “You’re beautiful!”

  “Ain’t I though!” Jessy’s red hair had been toned down with, Morgan guessed, a color rinse. Her lean body was beautifully enhanced by a soft violet dress. “It’s her, though, that’s done the most changin’,” she whispered to Morgan.

  Morgan was startled to see that meek little Alice was hardly recognizable. “She’s been standin’ in front of the mirror since she came in. Mary’s havin’ fits because the girl will hardly look at her. After all Mary did for her on the trip.”

  Alice held her chin high, barely nodding toward Morgan. She kept twisting one way and another to see herself from every angle. Mary was on the verge of tears, pleading with Alice to come sit by her.

  Jessy and Morgan exchanged looks, Jessy rolling her eyes to the ceiling. They both covered their mouths to suppress their giggles.

  “They been treatin’ you good, Morgan? This is the finest place I ever even seen. Decked out like this, I look like a lady. Madame says all the men who come here are gentlemen. I’d sure like to get me a real gentleman.”

  “I don’t really care, Jessy.”

  Jessy looked at her friend in sadness. “I never saw nobody pine over anybody as long as you have.”

  The door opened and Madame Nicole entered, followed by two very handsome young men. “Ladies, may I introduce Mr. Leon Thomas and Mr. Joel Westerbrooke?”

  Morgan considered laughing. Was this an ordinary afternoon tea?

  Mary’s voice reached her. “We’re held here as prisoners against our will. Would you help us? Get the sheriff!”

  The two young men turned away, their faces crimson. Immediately, Samson appeared from nowhere. Mary was taken away.

  Later, Morgan could remember little of the conversation. Alice and Jessy had talked to the young men eagerly. Morgan watched it all with little interest, and was glad when it was over.

  Nicole came while Morgan was eating dinner in her room. “You were smart to be quiet this afternoon. Men dream of a quiet, beautiful woman. It is by far the better game.”