drunkenly pounding on her door and demanding entry. Against her better judgment, she relented and let him inside, thinking to quiet him and then . . . The details of what occurred that night haunted her, filling her with disgust and dread. Since the passing of those horrible hours, she’d confided what happened to only one other person, Pearl, and Hallie knew that she’d never again give them voice.
In the end, leaving Whiskey Bend had been an easy decision.
“Do you have any regrets?” Hallie asked her friend.
“About leaving Whiskey Bend?” Pearl laughed. “If there’s one thing I’ll
never
regret, it’ll be leavin’ that fleabag town. Like my momma always used to say, ‘Ain’t no point in stayin’ where you ain’t wanted.’”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Damn right, I am.”
Hallie knew that Pearl also had more than her share of reasons to leave Whiskey Bend, although the matter had roots that had been formed many years earlier.
In the heady years after the completion of the trans-continental railroad, Pearl and her husband had done as thousands of others had and headed west. They’d settled in the aptly named town of Simple, wedged next to a river just across the Colorado state line from Nebraska. There, they’d built a tavern with the idea of establishing something they could be proud of and that would grow right along with the town. In the back of their minds there was even the idea of a child or two or three. It had all seemed ideal and attainable, but something had gone wrong.
Pearl’s husband always had a taste for whiskey, but now, with unfettered access to the tavern’s stock, he imbibed as never before. Soon, a slap here and there turned into a closed fist. One night, deep in the blistering cold January of their second year in Simple, he came to their bed not in the mood for love but for blood and beat her nearly half to death. The next morning, her meager belongings hastily packed into a rickety wagon, she left without regret and without ever once looking back. Six months later, Pearl received word that her husband had gotten drunk and burned the tavern to the ground, killing himself in the process.
For the next ten years, she drifted from one town to another, tending bars and doing other odd jobs before yet another ruined relationship forced her to once again move on. Finally, she came to Whiskey Bend determined to do things differently.
The biggest change in her life was to refuse to take another lover; after all her failed attempts, she’d come to realize that she just didn’t know how to pick them. But there was one thing about herself that she was unable to change: all the years behind alcohol-soaked bars had given her both a salty vocabulary and a wit quick enough to sharpen her tongue.
Then, one morning, while walking down the town boardwalk, after a long night working at the saloon, she was bumped into by an older man. Before he could even offer a word of apology, she’d shouted, “Goddamn stupid bastard! Why don’t you watch where in hell you’re goin’!” A moment later, she realized that she’d insulted the eighty-year-old pastor of the only church in town.
Soon after, Pearl Parsons had found herself the talk of the town. Wives told their husbands not to frequent the bar in which she worked in order to avoid any further scandal. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the bar’s owner asked her to leave.
Like Hallie, she had become a pariah, although of a different type.
Hallie stole another quick glance at her friend and couldn’t help but smile. In all the time they had known each other, she had seen nothing in Pearl that resembled what caused the whispers and stares back in Whiskey Bend. To Hallie, she was a warm, passionate woman who put her friendships before all else. She was outgoing, vivacious, colorful, and loyal to a fault—although, Hallie had to admit, she could swear as colorfully as any man.
Now whatever we face, we will face
In the end, leaving Whiskey Bend had been an easy decision.
“Do you have any regrets?” Hallie asked her friend.
“About leaving Whiskey Bend?” Pearl laughed. “If there’s one thing I’ll
never
regret, it’ll be leavin’ that fleabag town. Like my momma always used to say, ‘Ain’t no point in stayin’ where you ain’t wanted.’”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Damn right, I am.”
Hallie knew that Pearl also had more than her share of reasons to leave Whiskey Bend, although the matter had roots that had been formed many years earlier.
In the heady years after the completion of the trans-continental railroad, Pearl and her husband had done as thousands of others had and headed west. They’d settled in the aptly named town of Simple, wedged next to a river just across the Colorado state line from Nebraska. There, they’d built a tavern with the idea of establishing something they could be proud of and that would grow right along with the town. In the back of their minds there was even the idea of a child or two or three. It had all seemed ideal and attainable, but something had gone wrong.
Pearl’s husband always had a taste for whiskey, but now, with unfettered access to the tavern’s stock, he imbibed as never before. Soon, a slap here and there turned into a closed fist. One night, deep in the blistering cold January of their second year in Simple, he came to their bed not in the mood for love but for blood and beat her nearly half to death. The next morning, her meager belongings hastily packed into a rickety wagon, she left without regret and without ever once looking back. Six months later, Pearl received word that her husband had gotten drunk and burned the tavern to the ground, killing himself in the process.
For the next ten years, she drifted from one town to another, tending bars and doing other odd jobs before yet another ruined relationship forced her to once again move on. Finally, she came to Whiskey Bend determined to do things differently.
The biggest change in her life was to refuse to take another lover; after all her failed attempts, she’d come to realize that she just didn’t know how to pick them. But there was one thing about herself that she was unable to change: all the years behind alcohol-soaked bars had given her both a salty vocabulary and a wit quick enough to sharpen her tongue.
Then, one morning, while walking down the town boardwalk, after a long night working at the saloon, she was bumped into by an older man. Before he could even offer a word of apology, she’d shouted, “Goddamn stupid bastard! Why don’t you watch where in hell you’re goin’!” A moment later, she realized that she’d insulted the eighty-year-old pastor of the only church in town.
Soon after, Pearl Parsons had found herself the talk of the town. Wives told their husbands not to frequent the bar in which she worked in order to avoid any further scandal. She knew that it was only a matter of time before the bar’s owner asked her to leave.
Like Hallie, she had become a pariah, although of a different type.
Hallie stole another quick glance at her friend and couldn’t help but smile. In all the time they had known each other, she had seen nothing in Pearl that resembled what caused the whispers and stares back in Whiskey Bend. To Hallie, she was a warm, passionate woman who put her friendships before all else. She was outgoing, vivacious, colorful, and loyal to a fault—although, Hallie had to admit, she could swear as colorfully as any man.
Now whatever we face, we will face
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