The Enchanted Land (19 page)

A
FTER
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, including 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.”

Morgan worked hard at controlling her anger. “I was not playing any game.”

Motherly, Nicole patted her shoulder. “Already San Francisco is hearing about Madame Nicole’s little celebration, and it is rumored that a sensational beauty is to be offered. I thought I would reassure you. The sale is by invitation only. All these men have impeccable taste and a great deal of money.” She smiled at Morgan.

“I doubt if you would be smiling if
you
were about to be sold like an animal.”

Nicole laughed aloud, a deep laugh. “How ever do you think I got into this business? Actually,
chérie
, the sale is very exciting. I would give a great deal to be as young and as beautiful as you. To be auctioned off, to be fought over by many handsome young men—yes, that is very exciting. It happens only once. You should enjoy it.”

She looked again at Morgan’s furious face. “The young! They are so full of causes! This one would like to miss showing her beautiful body to men who will appreciate it. She would rather share it with only one man, one who will soon grow used to it and be bored by it. You are so lucky, Morgan, and you do not even realize it. Youth vanishes so quickly. Use it! Enjoy it!”

She realized that her sentiments meant nothing to Morgan. “Bah! Youth is wasted on the young. Goodnight.”

The day before Christmas, Morgan was left alone. She napped and dreamed of Seth. All day her thoughts of him were especially strong. Late in the afternoon, she heard a music box playing and turned toward the sound, to the dresser. In the mirror she saw not her own reflection, but Seth’s. He was staring at her with hatred, his features contorted. She stood frozen in horror. Then there was a muffled crash. The tinkling music was gone, and Seth’s face vanished.

She was still locked in her place when Madame Nicole and two servant girls entered. Instantly, the large woman knew something was wrong.

“Morgan! What’s wrong? You’re shaking.” She held Morgan’s shoulders, but the young woman continued to stare at the mirror. Nicole turned to the mirror and saw nothing. She put herself between Morgan and the glass.

“Tell me.”

“I saw … I saw…” Morgan’s voice was a harsh whisper.

“What did you see in the mirror? Girls! Make the
water
very
hot.” The three women undressed her and put her in the tub.

Gradually, Morgan began to lose her vacant stare and Nicole breathed a sigh of relief. “What did you see in the mirror?” she asked quietly.

Morgan’s voice held no emotion. “My husband.”

“But Jacques said he was dead. You only thought you saw him.” Her eyes caught Morgan’s and held. Something in them told her the truth: this vision been no wishful imagining. “
Mon Dieu!
” she exclaimed and crossed herself. Abruptly, she left the room.

Tonight, when Madame Nicole opened the sealed bids, she knew who would win Morgan. If only he
would
bid. This night she would say her rosary many times before sleeping.

The two young girls were quieter than usual as they dressed Morgan. Her clothes were especially fine, the lace on her chemise handmade. Her corset was satin and embroidered with tiny rosebuds. The dress was also satin, a rich emerald green. It was simply cut and unadorned, but very low in front, exposing her lovely shoulders.

The girls worked long on her hair, arranging it high on her head in loose, fat curls and waves. They kept checking the number of pins to hold it up, trying for as few as possible. Twice they removed all the pins and watched their artwork fall down her back in beautiful disarray. After the third try, they seemed satisfied. Their mood lightened as they became more deeply involved in their task, and they giggled often.

“Madame Nicole is very pleased with you. She says you may be the best girl ever offered. The men will be very happy.”

“We’ll show you off just right. Carrie and I have done this lots of times, but never with anyone as pretty as you. Sometimes we use makeup on the body, but you don’t need it at all.”

As Morgan’s silence lengthened, they stopped talking.

“Now you just stay right here while we go get ready. Don’t do anything to muss yourself.”

It seemed only minutes before the two girls reappeared. Morgan gasped at their costumes. Their dresses were black with tight long sleeves and very low square-cut necks. The gowns were pulled in very tight at the waist, and the skirts flaring out dramatically. The dresses ended at mid-thigh. The girls’ legs were covered only by sheer black silk stockings. Each had on black high-heeled pumps.

Morgan had never seen a woman expose her legs before. If the dresses had reached even to just the ankle, they would have been indecent. But this was beyond her imagination.

“These are our special dresses for the sales. Aren’t they pretty?”

“But so much of you is exposed! How can you appear before men like that?”