Her footsteps on the wooden floor echoed through the building. They must have alerted someone, for a middle-aged woman came out from behind the altar, carrying a mop.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“I’m looking for the minister.”
“Reverend Keller is officiating a funeral this afternoon. Can you come back in an hour?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
When Emma turned to leave, the woman said, “You can wait in here, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” Emma answered.
“Come on in the back. I have a pot of tea brewing. I was about to take my afternoon break.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “While the boss is still away.” She laughed and led Emma to a back room where they sat at a table. The woman took another cup out from a small cupboard and poured them each some tea.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before. Are you new in town?”
Emma nodded as she stirred cream into her tea. “My name is Emma Jamison.”
“Where are you from?”
Emma stopped stirring and set her spoon down. “Originally, I’m from Springfield, Illinois, but I started out on a trip with my best friend, Elsie, and her father. We were on a wagon train headed for Oregon, but they both took ill with cholera and died. Elsie died first, and then Mr. Coulter passed. I don’t know why I didn’t fall ill as I'd eaten and drank the same things they did.”
“How sad,” the woman said.
“Since I was alone, I had to leave the wagon train. A scout escorted me here.” Emma teared up. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“There, there—we’ll sort it out. Is that why you came to see the reverend?”
Emma nodded. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.
“I’m Gladys—Gladys Hartford. I’m a cleaner here.”
“Thank you, Gladys.”
Gladys studied her for a moment before saying, “You can’t live in Boulder City alone. The men here will eat you up alive. You’re a pretty girl, and you need protection.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Let me think.”
“Won’t the reverend help me?”
“He’ll probably just send you to live with someone in the congregation, but you can’t trust anyone. There are few women in town—single ones, that is, so the men are…shall we say…desperate for a woman’s attentions?”
Emma blushed. “Oh.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Forget the reverend; you’re coming with me. My good friend, Flora, owns a boarding house. You’ll be safe there. I’m afraid that if the reverend puts you in a home, you won’t be safe from some husbands and sons—this is still a very wild town.”
Gladys brought Emma to a large white house at the end of the street.
Emma gazed up at the house and noticed two young women, sunning themselves on the upper porch.
They entered through a side door and were met by a woman who was introduced to Emma as Flora.
She led Emma to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. “You can put your things in here.” Flora pointed to a wardrobe and a tallboy dresser. “I’ll get you something to eat, and then I’ll explain how this will work.”
After she’d gone, Emma opened her sack of clothes and unpacked. She wondered what Flora had meant when she'd said she'd explain how things would work.
She peered out the window to see bars there. How odd. Why would someone spoil the view by putting bars on the window panes? She shrugged and sat on the bed to await Flora's return.
Flora returned with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade which Emma started on immediately. She had eaten nothing of substance since early that morning.
As she ate, Flora explained, “You can stay here as long as you like, but you need to earn your keep. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course, not,” Emma replied. “I’m a fantastic housekeeper.”
“We have a housekeeper. I need you to work upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“We need another woman to…um…entertain our male guests.”
Emma gasped. Once she’d composed herself, she put the rest of her sandwich on the plate and stood. “I’m sorry, but I could never do that. I’m a godly person, and what the women do here is wrong.”
Emma packed her things back into her sack.
Flora sighed and rolled eyes. “You can stay the night. I may have another option for you. See you in the morning.”
In the morning, Flora gave Emma a hot breakfast before bringing in a woman to meet her. “Emma,” she said, “I want you to meet Dora Flanders. Dora owns the saloon.” Emma suppressed a groan. She supposed the woman wanted her to work in the saloon, but she couldn’t degrade herself or give up her morals. When her parents had died, she’d moved in with Elsie Coulter and her father who were also pious people.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dora said. “Would you consider working for me? I’d give you room, board, and a decent wage.”
“Absolutely not. I’m a God-fearing woman, and I couldn’t—”
“No, no,” Dora corrected. “You don’t have to do anything immoral in my saloon. Any woman that takes a man upstairs to her room does so on her own. I only expect them to make sure my customers have a good time and keep buying drinks.”
“How would I do that?” Emma asked.
“You stand by them, chat, and maybe flirt a little. You make them feel good by giving them your attentions, and that’s all. Men are flattered when a young woman pays attention to them.”
Emma shrugged. “I suppose I could do that.” She'd have to make concessions or she’d be sleeping outside on
