500 Days - The Letter

I had to take a few days off of editing because I am getting ready to start teaching at a new University (part-time).  It's always exciting to begin the semester, but it is also a lot of work! 

This segment of 500 Days returns to "The Letter"; the story of Amy, her imprisionment and the miraculous letter she wrote to her mother.  In this section, French Kate reflects on the impossibility of Amy's escape. Hope you enjoy it!
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French Kate Fixes the Door

The wind that whips through the busted door started to get on my nerves.  How dare that girl.  How dare that damn preacher and those damn fools he brought with him disrupt my business.  It’s taken two boys two hours to fix our door.  We’d had it shipped in all the way from Pittsburgh. What a waste.  To have a door like that kicked in.  Ruined by a ruined girl.  She’ll be good for nothing now anyways.  Once you whore you never come back.  At least not the same.  I know that bitch Widow Ricketts whored back  in Franklin.  I know she hasn’t forgotten what she left.  Now, she acts all high and mighty because she ain’t whoring no more, but I know what she’s not saying.  It don’t leave you.  She ain’t never gonna look at a man in the same way. 

At least with the door fixed there is less wind coming in.  Ben has been out at Salons all night and all day.  He’s probably on a bender and won’t come back ‘til he’s crying and begging for my forgiveness.  What a waste.  I’ll act mad though, if only for the power it’ll hold over him. 

Losing three girls has been hard on business. Good thing Ben put those ads in a few weeks ago.  We should be getting in new recruits from a few more states.  They won’t take long to break.  This last girl was a fluke.  A tough one.  The other ones we’ll break down faster. 

Funny thing is I have no idea how the girl got her momma to come and get her.  Don’t know how she got word to her.  We sealed off the attic so there isn’t any way to get out.  But, once he gets back I’ll have Ben check it again.  We don’t want this kind of mistake happening again.  It’s bad for business.

500 Days - Flashback

Over vacation, I had the opportunity to talk about the holes in my story: the places I need to fill in in order for the story to make sense.  One of those holes is in the first section of the book when Amy is first held captive by French Kate and Big Ben.  She writes a letter on a scrap piece of paper she finds in the attic, then   she sticks the letter through the slats of the building where she is help captive.  In the story as I had previously written it, Amy's mom gets the letter in the mail which means someone must have picked up the letter and posted it.  But, I never say who did and talk about what happened when he/she found the letter.  Today's entry is about that moment in the story.  Crocus (he's another character based on a historical figure) finds Amy letter. Hope you enjoy!
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Crocus: The Letter

In this here town there’s never any point to looking down when you walk.  There’s just too much and filth to see.  I’ve been here going on two years now and I’m still not used to it: the mix of mud and oil that seeps through the wooden slats when you walk, that seeps into everything.  But, even though it’s dirty and rough, I love it here.  I love the rawness of it. 

I grew up just a few miles away in Franklin.  Franklin ain’t a bad place.  It’s a solid town.  I wrote for the paper there before I came here.  It was a good job.  But there wasn’t much to write about.  An occasional shooting, or drowning in the river, but most seasons there was a drought for was a drought.  The town sat on the edge of the river like a good citizen and continued to document it’s good marks.  That’s until I heard about Pithole.  How it just sprang up out of the field after Frazier and Faulkner wandered up started bobcatting and then pulled a well that produced over 250 gallons in the first week.  When I heard word of that, I was on the first coach up.  Ain’t nothing but stories gonna come out of a place like that!

But yesterday, after I left Wiggin’s restaurant, I was looking down.  I can’t remember why.  I must have been day dreaming about a story I aim to write, and that’s when I saw it.  A white, folded letter come floating down like a god-damned butterfly.  I reached my arm out and caught it, all the time thinking, what in all hell is this this?  Some fool tossing their garbage from the rooftops now?  There was something about the paper though that made me want to grab it.  I can’t tell you what it was.  But the part of me that is always hungry for a story pushed itself to the front of my skull, the way it does when I’m on to a good lead.  So, I grabbed it, stuffed it into my pocket and kept walking.

When I got to my place, I opened the door, and sat down before I pulled it out and realized it was an oddly fashioned letter.  Looked like someone used an old bank registry to write it on.  Why would anyone toss a letter into the street?  That’s when I read it. 

The sense of it slapped me in the face.  A young girl tricked and then forced into whoring?  I grabbed my coat, and headed out the door, walked straight to the post office, and put those words in the mail.  Then, I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure what the hell is going on is this town.  By evening, I had a few leads.  People were talking about French Kate and how she and Ben were hard up for girls.  Could they really have gone that far?

When I lay down on my bed my body was tense with curiosity.  Where was this girl exactly?  And how could I help her?  Then sleep came washing slow and dark.  I dream of the yawning hole this town is named after: dark opening in the earth, the smell of sulfur, the blur of heat and smoke.  When I awoke I was still restless, but I knew exactly what I needed to do.

500 Days - What the River Carried on it's Back

It's been a few days since I've had a chance to log on and post the latest installment from 500 Days.  I teach five classes, so needless to say, there has been a lot of grading to do!  Plus, we are getting ready to celebrate Christmas as a family and I am living with my two very excited little boys.  But, I'm back with another segment.  In this piece, Amy has an epiphany that will change her life forever. Hope you enjoy!  Happy holidays!

Amy: What the River Carried on its Back

Try not to think about chickens but the sound of the damn birds is everywhere.  We are staying down in Oil City tonight.  There is no train out until the morning and so my mother, father and I are stuck staying at this hotel that's located right next to a chicken slaughtering operation.  How can these small birds be so loud?  Their clucking seems to penetrate my skull.  It's as if they know about their impending doom.  It's as if the combination of their sound escalates their fear.  Just a day and a half ago I was the one trapped. I was stuck in a wooden cage.  I was poked at.  Now, I am freed but my mind still feels caged in.  I'm not sure how to let it out.  Every noise I hear swells to the sound of Ben's large boots.  Every touch reminds me of his weight on top of me.  Every time we get farther away from Pithole, the more I think about the other girls that have been trapped like me, like these damn chickens that cluck and wail around me.  How can I leave others to a fate I escaped?  The air here is heavy with the smog of industry.  In front of our hotel slides a wide, grey river.  My mother said that river flows all the way to Pittsburgh.  Out on it are huge barges filled with barrels and barrels of oil.  That black substance that will forever pour down my throat, will forever darken the world between before and after in my mind.

At first light I decide there is no going back.  There is no way to leave and not at least try to help those who may come after me.  The letter was a fluke.  It won't work twice.  Besides, who else would be deluded enough to think that a letter, written on a scrap of paper and slid through a crack in the wall so that it falls to the street will actually reach its destination.  The chances of the other girls escaping are unlikely.  Unlikely, that is, unless I help them. 

As the idea comes to me, so does the first smile I've smiled in weeks.  I feel it spreading across my face like the first light that begun to illuminate the room.  That's what I'll do.  I'll go back to the church.  I’ll enlist Reverend  Steadman to help me bring down French Kate and Ben.  I'll work with him to make sure this doesn't happen again.  The way he slung that shotgun around during my rescue I can tell he doesn't think too highly of Kate's operation.  Or, at least about the way she gets her girls. I think he'll know how to help me.

I shake my mother awake first.  "Ma" I say, "There's something I've got to do."  She looks at me confused at first.  Then, relief washes over her face as if she is again just registering that I am indeed safe.  I know my idea will trouble her, but I also know if I tell her how much it means to me to do it, how if I don't do it I will never be the same, I know she will understand.  As the chickens shuffle and cluck, I tell her my plan.  With each word, I watch her face carefully for reaction.  Her face remains slack as a river as tears well in her eyes and slowly begin to roll down each cheek.

"I understand this is something you must do."  She says solemnly after a few minutes.  "I will stay with you and help you."  I smile back at her.  When I glance over at my Pa.  My poor beaten Pa who just up and left his own church in Millerton to come save my life, my Ma sees my look and sighs.  "You're right," she says, "he won't be able to come with us.  It would be better if he went home to recover." I know at this moment she is torn in two. 

"I can do this alone if I have to" I say boldly.

"I know you can Amy.  I reckon you can do just about anything now, after what you've been through. I don't know if I'd ever forgive myself though if I left you to go it alone."

When I look back at her all that had been between us:  all of the fights, the annoyance I carried with me about her, the differences we have at our very core, melted away.  It was as if the river had risen up and swept all of those feelings out of the room and all that was left was love and the sound of chickens.

500 Days - The Letter

Today's story takes us back to Amy and her mother and father.  When we last left her, Amy was still stuck in the attic of the Dew Drop Inn (which is actually a brothel).  Her mother and father received a letter she had miraculously mailed and they had come to rescue her.  However, the rescue did not go well and Amy's mother and father went to the church for help.  At the church, they met Pastor Steadman.  Pastor Steadman is based on a historical figure and Reverend D.S. Steadman who was a gun slinging church leader.  This segment of the story is what Steadman does once he has heard Amy's mother tell the story of Amy's kidnapping. Hope you enjoy!
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Veronica: Everything Seems to Break at Once

With Pastor Steadman standing in front of me, in front of my broken husband who is bent over, covered in his own blood, his eyes swollen shut, everything seems to break in me a once.  I am beside myself in racking sobs.  “Oh Pastor Steadman,” I wail.  “I know we do not know each other, but I am in desperate fear of what those animals will do to my child.”  I can see Steadman's eye twitch with these words and at once know he, too, is a father.  I have spent the last hour telling him the story of Amy, right up to the last few hours we've spent fighting to rescue her from the brothel where we assume she is being held captive.

“If what you say is true,” he says, “and I believe by your reaction it must be, there is nothing to be done but act.” 

With these words he strides swiftly out the back of the church to a door in the back.  I'm left to calm myself, to soothe William.  A few moments later, Pastor Steadman strides in with a 12 gauge shot gun thrown over his shoulder and I am surprised by how little his gun shocks and frightens me.  Steadman is the type of Pastor who preaches in a town where guns are the law, not God.  He looks me straight on and says, “it's probably best ma'am if you stay here. This rescue might get ugly.”  With these words, he turns on his heel and strides out of the door. 

But, I have no choice but to follow.  I cannot sit by as someone else goes to rescue my daughter.  I tell William I'll be right back, but he has fallen unconscious.  Quickly, I follow a few steps behind the Pastor as he strides confidently down the street towards the brothel. 

With one swift kick he open the already broken door.  “I'm here for the girl,” I hear him shout with force.  Then, I hear a loud snarl from the strong man. 

“What the hell you talking about Steadman.” 

“I said, I'm here for the girl.  The one you and Kate have locked up in your attic.  Her mother just came up to the church and told me the whole story.  Now, I don't usually mind your business, but this time, you've gone too far.” Steadman says.

From the street, I can see how he is looking at the strong man straight on.  “I don't know what the hell you talking about,” says Ben.

“Alright, if that's the way it's going to be, I'll shoot my way in.”  With these words, he sets his shotgun on his shoulder, releases the safety, and sets the site directly on the Strongman.

“Well, wait here just a second,” says Ben.  “I don't want to cause any trouble.  She's up there.”  He says, pointing to the stairs I'd tried to climb just an hour ago.  For what seems like an eternity, I hear him climb the stairs then nothing.  Just the beat of my heart thundering in my ears. 

500 Days - The Girls Who Would Be Birds

Today, we skip ahead a few days.  Emmy, Diana and Amy have been working hard getting the oil out of the well and shooing off suitors who want to marry them for their wealth.  Amy (whose backstory you will hear about tomorrow) and Diana have been given the money they need to buy themselves out of prostitution from Emmy sharing the wealth from the oil.  In this segment, Amy go to see Big Ben and French Kate in hopes of buying their freedom.  Hope you enjoy!
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Diana - Out of the Ashes

The story I read last night, the last one I read before I fell asleep, was about a bird.  A bird that flies so fast it turns into bright burning flames, then, crumbles to ash.  Unbelievably, from that scattering of ashes rises a new bird.  “A phoenix” the book called it.  Emmy loaned me her book, it’s the one I first started to read after the fire.  She called it Metamorphosis.  Said it was a collection of tales they used to tell long ago.  The tales are magical, like the fairy tales my Momma used to read to me each night before I fell asleep.  The book had been a gift from her father.  He’d brought it from Germany.   My favorite had always been the story of the miller’s daughter: the girl who weaves straw into gold but who’s almost tricked by that arrogant troll. She survives because she doesn’t give up and she listens.

Yesterday, after we’d sat with Emmy and made our plan, Jane and I left while Emmy did her paperwork and got her laundry accounts settled.  We took a walk back to the Chase hotel.  I hadn’t been back since the night it burned down.  Since the night I walked into my own darkness and then back out.  It still stood, black ember boards covered in grey ash.  There wasn’t much left and by the looks of it (ashy foot prints everywhere) many have already picked over anything that was left unscathed.  I thought I would feel sad looking back at this place, but instead it is a nothingness that fills me.  Not the darkness that threatened to let me walk into the flames, but a nothingness of no regret of not feeling anything for this place.

Jane and I walk on past the ruins of the hotel.  She is nervously biting her nails.  I loop my arm in hers as we walk down the tight streets. She’s worried she’ll run into Big Ben.  That he’ll see her and make her come back.  But, I assure her that whatever the cost Emmy can buy her out now, that we safe.  We gettin’ out.  But, she still bites her nails and looks at the ground as we walk.  All the joy that had been slowly washing back into her face has washed right back out.

When we walk past the hotel where Jane once worked, I can feel her arm start to shake in fear.  “It’s okay,” I say. “ I got the paper.  We gonna be okay.”  But she still shakes.

Strange thing is when we walk up we find the door kicked in.  Ben is in the parlor.  But he don’t look so tough.  He’s got a bloody lip and he’s pacing back and forth on the floor. 

“What the hell do you whores want?”  He say as we walk up.

“We are here to buy ourselves out.”  I say trying to look tall as I can. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He says. “ Kate!”  He yells.  “We got another runner.”

By the look of Ben, by the sound of these words, I know that something bad has happened.  Kate steps slowly down the wood staircase in her high heeled boots.  She is (like always) dressed to the nines.  Her body is held tight in a red velvet bodice.  Her breasts spilling out of the top.  Her hair is swept up and her face is painted like a china dolls. 

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs she says.  “Well, well, well, what we got here.  Another transformed whore?  We were wondering where you went off to Diana after the fire.  And Jane you take care of your problem?  Or, you need another visit from Big Ben’s fists?”  With these words I can feel Jane shrink to half her size. 

“No ma’am.  We here to buy back ourselves.”

“You ain’t got that kind of cash.”  Kate cuts back.

“Oh yes Ma’am we do. Just after the fire, Widow Ricketts struck oil.  She’s offered to buy us out.  I’ve got her letter here.”

“I don’t care you got a signature from President Lincoln himself.  You two is my whores and we got some men who want your services so you get your pretty little selves cleaned up so we can make some money.”

“I don’t think you understand.  We got the money.  We want out.”

“I don’t think you understand.  I got a business to run.”

Two days ago, before the fire, before I’d seen what would happen if I’d stay, I would have backed down.  I would have dropped my eyes and said a quiet, yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am.  But not now, not today.  Anger bloomed in me hot as the fire I’d escaped.

“We not here to negotiate.”  I say, handing Kate the folded paper Emmy had written out.

“Ben, Ben you believe this one?” She say

But Ben don’t look himself.  He still cursing under his breath and blood is streaming down his face. “I don’t give a fuck what them ladies want Kate.  I need a fucking drink”  And with these words he strolled right out the door.

“Well, I never!”  Kate says under her breath, her face flushing.  She opens the parchment and looks down.  I see her reaction real quick before she can fix it.  She looked surprised by the numbers Emmy has given her for us.  But she a good business woman and she correct herself real quick. 

“Well, we’ll have to see if this figure will work.  You girls get out of here now before I change my mind.  You’re lucky I have one hell of a headache this afternoon.”  And with these words she folds the paper into a tiny, tight note and stuffs it into her huge bosom.

I grab Jane’s arm too tight and spin her out of that place fast.  We walk as quickly as we can down the street back to the far edge of town where Emmy lives.  As we walk I can feel the air around me grow lighter and lighter.  As if a cool breeze had suddenly picked up and washed over us.  We walked through that wind, arms linked, feeling lighter than air, the dust swirling in the air, the ash of the burnt hotel back to the shade of them hemlocks on Emmy’s property where she sitting and shouting out to us,  “Well? How’d it go? You free yet?  Cause we got us some work cut out for us today!”

The Letter, Part 3: French Kate

Today is the final segment in Amy's section "The Letter" before we turn back to Diana and Widow Ricketts to see how the discovery of oil has changed their lives for the better. Hope you enjoy!
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French Kate: Revenge

I have no idea how that bitch found us.  That dumb girl must have told her family where she was going and somehow figured it out.  Well she ain’t getting that girl.  Not now.  If I was smart, I’d just have Ben go up there and finish her off.  She’s so green, we’ll have to break her.  She’s a fighter, but that don’t matter.  I can break any girl down.  Ben will want to kill her.  I can tell just by looking at him as he stands looking out the broken glass, clutching his bruised knuckles.  But, I don’t kill the girls.  It’s not worth it. I am many things, but not a murderer.

Instead, I’ll just let him go upstairs and get rough with her.  That way, when they come back, if they come back (I’ll bet they’ll be afraid to come), they’ll see our work here is done.  She ain’t coming back anymore.  She’s a changed girl. 

 

The Letter, Part 3 Continued 3

Today, Amy's mother and father find Pithole and the Dew-Drop Inn where Amy is being held captive.
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Amy’s Mother: Through the Dust we Find Hope

The dust that rises from the slope is blinding.  It's so thick I don't see how the horses see the track in front of them.  We had to take the wagon up from the town down below because the stage would have taken more time we didn’t have to lose.  I'm worn down and so is William by the looks of him, but neither one of us has said a word about it.  Every second counts, I think as we head up the hill and my mind whirs with the idea of what will await us.  What kind of place would trick a young girl to come to their door thinking she has a legitimate job and then imprison her?  My guess is the people behind this aren’t god fearing.  I can see the resolve that's settled into William's eyes.  He's a peaceful man at his core.  A man of God but what I see awakening in his face is a rage I didn’t even know he was capable of possessing. 

When we arrive in town I'm shocked by the place.  Every surface: the ground, the houses, the wooden sidewalks is covered in mud and oil.  Men aren't shaven and by the smell of it bathing isn't a common practice in Pithole.  As soon as our feet touch the ground William and I walk briskly to the post office to inquire where we might find the establishment Amy had told us she was joining.  Who knows if those crooks were stupid enough to use the real name of their establishment, but it's the one lead we've got so we've got to follow it. 

The post office is just a half block away and as we approach we see hundreds of people lined up around it waiting. The line curls around the building like an animal.  What do you think all the fuss is about?  I ask William and he just shrugs.  When we get close, he asks a man who is waiting online.

“Why you just found yourself one of the busiest post offices in the nation!” he announces in a loud, proud voice.  We see quickly that we aren’t going to make much headway here, so we walk to the first intersection. 

“If we split up,” I say, “I’ll bet we can find the establishment in half a day.” I say.  But William frowns and says he won’t allow it.  It isn’t safe. 

“There are drunken men everywhere,” he says, “and what would you do if you found the place?”  I realize he is right but hesitate before I agree.  And so our search of Pithole begins with the two of us walking the dusty planks side by side, looking into the dusty plate glass windows, searching aimlessly for our lost child.

It takes us about two hours to find the Dewdrop Inn, the address that Amy had placed on the letter she somehow sent.  Funny thing is, it doesn’t even try to look like an inn.  It’s a three-story house, with a wooden porch.  We walk up to the fogged glass door and knock.  Quickly, a man answers the door.  He is commanding in his height, with raven black hair. 

“What can I do for you folks,” he says, looking us over suspiciously.

“We are looking for our daughter, Amy.”  My husband says, looking intensely at the man in the doorway. 

Instantly, a wave of knowledge passes through the man’s face, as if he has realized who we are and why we’ve come to his establishment.  “Ain’t no new girls around here,” he says, looking my husband up and down.  “Looks like you got the wrong house.  Why don’t you two head on down the road.”

Almost immediately, William’s face become lit with the fire of his anger as he opens his mouth and states his plain reply.  “We received a letter from our daughter Amy.  She says, she’s locked here in the attic of your establishment. We don’t mean you any harm.  We only want to gather our daughter who wishes to leave your establishment.  So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d step aside and let us pass.”

With these words, I see a flash of recognition or surprise flash over the man’s face.  It doesn’t last long, and he’s quick to correct it, but for one second I can see that what we’ve spoken is truth.  With that hope, I lose control of myself and throw my whole weight against the door. 

I scream, “Amy, Amy?  Are you in there?  We’re here darling!  Come down and come away with us.” 

The man sees me lunge and quickly places his arm in my way. “You ain’t coming in,” he says with the whole mass of his body.  But I fight him hard.  “Let me in!”  I scream.  “I know she’s in there.  What kind of animal are you to keep a young girl trapped in your attic?!”

He just grins a crooked grin.  That’s when I see the red marks climbing his arms.  They are fresh.  I think, oh Lord, at least she’s fighting back that means she’s alive.

William says loud and firm, “If this is how you receive us, we will return with the law!” 

“Ain’t no law in this town,” the man laughs back.  “You even know where you are you dumb fucks?  You in Pithole.  Only law here is oil.  Other than that, you on your own.”

And with that he slams the door in our faces.

“No,” I scream, banging my arms on the closed wood door, “No, Noooooooo!”.  William puts his arms around my sobbing shoulders and says softly in my ear, “we should go.  Don’t worry.  We will find another way to get her out of there.  This isn’t over.  I promise.” 

But I can’t move.  It’s as if my legs have gone wooden and grown into the very spot where I am standing.  I’m not going.  I’m not leaving until we get our daughter out of here.  Who knows what that beast of a man will do once we leave this spot.  I sob, “he’s going to go up the stairs and beat her, or worse!” 

“You’re right,”  he says and I see the truth of my words register in his face. “We’ve got to go in.”  Our eyes lock in agreement.  I grab the handle and feel immediately that it is locked.  Before I can react, in one swift move William kicks in the glass door, leans his arm in and undoes the lock.  When he pushes his whole weight against the wooden door, we rush in. 

The man, who we realize has just been waiting for us to enter, is on us almost immediately.  He swings and punches William hard in the face.  Blood spurts from his nose. 

“I said I didn’t want the likes of you around here,” he says taking another punch this time at William’s kidneys.  But he’s half turned and engrossed in beating William and I see my chance.  I run for the wooden stair case I see directly in front of me, my heart pounding in my throat.  My feet fly across the room, then up the flight of stairs before the man notices me.  I look back relieved to see I’d slipped by, but just as I turn back around I see her:  a woman standing at the top of the stairs in tall heeled boots, a bodice and a long velvet skirt.  She is smiling a wide, sick grin and patting a shot gun that is lying gently across her arms. 

“I don’t think you are going anywhere Ma’am.  This is my house and I don’t take well to uninvited guests.”  With these words she grabs me hard by the arm and with one swift kick sends me tumbling down the stairs.

When I gather my senses at the bottom of the stairs I see the large man looking down at me.  “I see you’ve met the lady of the house,”  he says kicking me swiftly in the ribs.  “NOW GET THE FUCK OUT!”

I am trembling with fear and then I see William, covered in blood.   “Oh what monsters have our child?”  I think.  There is nothing left to do but to try and stand, to gather William up and shuffle out the door.  We are beaten.  We cannot get Amy out alone.  “We must find help.  We must find help.”  I whisper again and again to myself as we are pushed out the door by our laughing assailants.

 “And don’t come back!” They shout at our swooped forms as we shuffle away from the house bloody and defeated.

The Letter, Part 3, Continued 2

I couldn't post all weekend because we were without power.  Ah, the country life!  But I am back now with your next segment. The next section of 500 Days is about a new character, French Kate.  She's the madame at the brothel where Amy has ended up.  This section introduces her and gives her background information.  Hope you enjoy!
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Catherine’s Fortune

I don’t know how I got the name French Kate.  But folks who know me call my Kate.  My real name is Catherine LeConte, but no one here in Pithole knows this except for Ben.  I go by Kate Granger or French Kate for short.  This here is my house and we do real good business.  Ben keeps the girls in order and the men from getting too rowdy.  Ben doesn't always play it straight.  He's known for getting mixed up in a brawl, for coming home with a bloody lip, or for gambling with the wrong sorts.  I can’t tell you how many times someone has come knocking on our door with a shotgun in the middle of the night.  No law can keep him from doing wrong.  Ben’s no fool though; he doesn’t try and get himself killed.   And the second he walks through the door and sees me, his eyes light up.  I've always had that giant under my thumb. 

Just under a fortnight ago we were getting low on staff.  Girls here get tired of the business after a few months and they run off.  There are a few tough ones, who stay, and there are few more who are scared to leave for fear of Ben or me, but our numbers are always going down.  And in a town like this where there are fifty men to one woman, staff is hard to come by.  So, Ben came up with this idea.  He's real good with ideas.  He put the ad in the Buffalo paper advertising a “hotel” we are running where we needed fine young girls who could work as part of our staff.  I got a real belly laugh when I read it.  Told him he ought to get himself a job at the Pihole Register as a reporter!  Told him he could give old Crocus a run for his money. I didn’t expect much from it, but since he sent it out we’ve gotten half a dozen girls rolling in from all over New York.  Most are young and inexperienced and real surprised when they walk through the door.  But, it don’t take long to turn them around.  A day or two locked up.  A good fuck or two by Ben and a few threats that we are gonna find their families and kill them and they open up their legs to the public. 

When this last girl got off the train though I could see she was green as a sapling, probably never even kissed a man.  I knew right away she'd be hard to break.  But, I got my ways.  So do Ben.  It's been 10 days and she's still holding out.  Tomorrow, I'll tell Ben to break her in harder, maybe bring in a gun or a knife.  Scare the fuck into her. I'm tired of hearing her moaning and crying above my bed in the attic and we let her go much longer she’s gonna be too weak to fuck anyone for a week.

I wasn't always a Madame.  I used to live in an elegant house away from dust and mud.  I wore the finest gowns and was waited on by a full staff.  My husband, Confederate General LeConte, was well respected in New Orleans.  And he adored me each and every day he was alive.  Damn that war.  What was I supposed to do, stay in that house alone after he died?  Live off that measly pension they sent me?  Graciously accept the note: Thank you ma'am.  Your husband was a fine citizen of the United States of America.  I don't give a damn about this country.  I had myself a fine life until this country took it all away from me.  So, what was I to do?  Sit and wait?  Learn a trade?  I've always been good with men.  Since I was a little girl, I could charm all of my father's friends.  The boys at school would follow me around like a pack of starving dogs.  Prostitution came naturally to me.  I liked the power I held over those men.  Touch them the right way and they look at you like you were a god. 

I started pulling tricks in New Orleans, but soon realized my old reputation would get in the way of who I wanted to become so I headed East.  I first met Ben in New York.  He was working as part of a traveling gymnastics show as the strong man and he came to the house I was working looking for a good fuck.  I'll never forget the first time he saw me.  He jaw just about dropped looking at me naked before him.  Right then, I knew I had him under my thumb for as long as I needed him.  Within a few months we had both settled in Pithole and set up shop.  He had passed through this town as part of his gymnastic act a few months before and he talked about the ratios of men to women.  “It’ll be a racket!” He said grinning his big, stupid smile.  “Ain’t enough women to fuck in that town.” He became my business partner.  I'm tough and have no problem keeping those girls in line but when it comes to the angry johns, and the local business partners who want to swing deals, it helps to have Ben's six and a half foot frame looming next to me.  This town is like a fountain of money.  Those boys hit oil, get cash, and give it right to me.  They drink it away at my bar, they fuck it away with my girls and I just smile and take their money.

Once, a few years ago, I got a letter from someone in my old life.  Ms. LeMurre, was an old neighbor and a dear friend in New Orleans.  Her husband was also a confederate general, so we spent countless hours together during the war.  But, when the war ended and her husband came home, and mine did not, I couldn't stand her.  I hated that her husband had lived when mine had died.  What’s worse is she never even knocked on my door to offer condolences.  She'd just peek through her window curtains every once in a while to see first, the furniture being taken away, then the servants being let go.  Or, finally, the men I begin to let in as I learned my new trade.  I’ll give her this, she never did call the cops on me.  She just kept those curtains closed tight once she knew what was going on.

That’s why when the letter arrived, I didn't bother opening it.  But even the existence of that letter filled me with rage.  Those first few months before I knew what to do came rushing back to me in a terrible wave.  For the first time in years I felt the loss and loneliness washing over me and I hated her even more for that.  I remembered my old life.  It was in that rage that I threw the letter down in the muddy street.  It was undoubtedly just a letter of regret.  One where she finally pours out her heart about how she'd wished she been there to help me in my time of need.  How, if only she had, my life wouldn't have taken this terrible turn.  How she hopes now she can become my friend again and save me.

Well, Ms. LeMurre, my fortune ain’t as bad as you make it out.  I got more power in Pithole then you'd ever wish for.  My girls are the best in town because I train them that way.  They know how to make men beg for more.  Power men come to our town just to fuck my girls.  I don't need your god damned pity.  How do you like being face down in the mud without a hope? 

“Ben” I shout, still feeling the rage in my cheeks.  “Go visit the girl.  It’s time to break her in the hard way. Bring in a shotgun, knife, whatever you think will work.  Threaten her like you did that last one – threaten to find her family and kill them.”