deadly accuracy, and blew the first smoke ring with equally deadly accuracy; it appeared to wreath a florid nipple on the nude behind the bar. He narrowed one eye on the nipple and the ring, as if taking a bead down the bore of a Winchester. “We’re goin’ t’ have a picture-namin’ contest. The man who tags our rosy-breasted li’l lady here gets the first dance with Jubilee when she arrives!”
And so the battle lines were drawn.
CHAPTER
3
On Sunday, Reverend Samuel Clarksdale of Christ Presbyterian Church was upstaged in the pulpit by Drusilla Wilson whose message was concise and inspiring: Those who stood by and watched a loved one chained to the evils of alcohol without helping when they could were equally as guilty as if they themselves had placed the bottle in the loved one’s hands.
When Sunday services ended, Miss Wilson was greeted effusively by the women in the congregation. Many squeezed her hand heartily, some with tears in their eyes. Many did the same to Agatha Downing, thanking her in advance for providing them with a gathering place.
Agatha outfitted herself for the meeting in a stiff-necked dress of somber brown, her bustles lashed firmly behind her, skirts tied back so tightly her steps were considerably shortened. She was ready well before seven, so she went downstairs and dusted the countertops and lit the lanterns. Dusk had not quite fallen when she opened the shop door to greet Drusilla Wilson. As usual, the woman was ready with a firm handclasp.
“Agatha, how nice to see you again.”
“Come in, Miss Wilson.”
But before stepping inside, Drusilla glanced toward the door of the saloon. “You’ve seen what we’re up against, I imagine?”
Agatha appeared puzzled, then stepped onto the boardwalk herself.
The swinging doors were thrown back. The paintingbehind the bar could be viewed from an oblique angle along the left wall. On the boardwalk out front stood that wretched Southerner, dressed to the nines, with a smoking cheroot in his mouth and one elbow draped on a double-sided billboard announcing:
NEW LADIES IN TOWN
NAME THE PAINTING BEHIND THE BAR AND WIN THE FIRST DANCE WITH
MISS JUBILEE BRIGHT
THE BRIGHTEST GEM OF THE PRAIRIE SOON TO APPEAR AT THE GILDED CAGE WITH HER JEWELS
PEARL AND RUBY
He thoughtfully allowed Agatha time to read it before tipping his hat and grinning slowly. “Evenin’, Miz Downin’.”
Oh, he had gall. Standing there smirking and drawling. She’d like to knock that sign out from under him and send him sprawling!
“Y’all expectin’ a pretty good turnout, are ya?”
“Most certainly.”
“Not as good as mine, I’ll wager.”
“Have you no decency? It’s the Lord’s day!”
“None whatsoever, ma’am. Got t’ have the welcome mat out when that first herd hits town. Could be any minute now, for all we know.”
She lifted one eyebrow toward the sign. “Jubilee, Pearl, and Ruby? Polished gems, I’m sure.” She could see them already—lice-carrying, diseased whores with singed hair and fake moles.
“Genuine, all three.”
She snorted softly.
He puffed on his cigar.
At that moment a tall lanky mulatto with deepset eyes and kinky black hair rolled the piano near the door. He was so thin he looked as if a gust of wind would blow him over. “Time to make some music, Ivory?”
“Yessuh.”
“Ivory, I don’t believe you’ve met Miz Downin’, our next-door neighbor. Miz Downin’, my piano man, Ivory Culhane.”
“Miz Downin’.” He removed a black bowler, centering it on his chest as he bowed. Replacing the hat at a rakish angle, he inquired, “What can I play for ya, ma’am?”
How dare these two act as if this was nothing more than an afternoon ice-cream social! Agatha had no wish whatever to exchange pleasantries with the pimp saloon owner, nor with the man whose infernal plunking kept her awake night after night. She gave the latter a sour look and replied tartly, “How about ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our
And so the battle lines were drawn.
CHAPTER
3
On Sunday, Reverend Samuel Clarksdale of Christ Presbyterian Church was upstaged in the pulpit by Drusilla Wilson whose message was concise and inspiring: Those who stood by and watched a loved one chained to the evils of alcohol without helping when they could were equally as guilty as if they themselves had placed the bottle in the loved one’s hands.
When Sunday services ended, Miss Wilson was greeted effusively by the women in the congregation. Many squeezed her hand heartily, some with tears in their eyes. Many did the same to Agatha Downing, thanking her in advance for providing them with a gathering place.
Agatha outfitted herself for the meeting in a stiff-necked dress of somber brown, her bustles lashed firmly behind her, skirts tied back so tightly her steps were considerably shortened. She was ready well before seven, so she went downstairs and dusted the countertops and lit the lanterns. Dusk had not quite fallen when she opened the shop door to greet Drusilla Wilson. As usual, the woman was ready with a firm handclasp.
“Agatha, how nice to see you again.”
“Come in, Miss Wilson.”
But before stepping inside, Drusilla glanced toward the door of the saloon. “You’ve seen what we’re up against, I imagine?”
Agatha appeared puzzled, then stepped onto the boardwalk herself.
The swinging doors were thrown back. The paintingbehind the bar could be viewed from an oblique angle along the left wall. On the boardwalk out front stood that wretched Southerner, dressed to the nines, with a smoking cheroot in his mouth and one elbow draped on a double-sided billboard announcing:
NEW LADIES IN TOWN
NAME THE PAINTING BEHIND THE BAR AND WIN THE FIRST DANCE WITH
MISS JUBILEE BRIGHT
THE BRIGHTEST GEM OF THE PRAIRIE SOON TO APPEAR AT THE GILDED CAGE WITH HER JEWELS
PEARL AND RUBY
He thoughtfully allowed Agatha time to read it before tipping his hat and grinning slowly. “Evenin’, Miz Downin’.”
Oh, he had gall. Standing there smirking and drawling. She’d like to knock that sign out from under him and send him sprawling!
“Y’all expectin’ a pretty good turnout, are ya?”
“Most certainly.”
“Not as good as mine, I’ll wager.”
“Have you no decency? It’s the Lord’s day!”
“None whatsoever, ma’am. Got t’ have the welcome mat out when that first herd hits town. Could be any minute now, for all we know.”
She lifted one eyebrow toward the sign. “Jubilee, Pearl, and Ruby? Polished gems, I’m sure.” She could see them already—lice-carrying, diseased whores with singed hair and fake moles.
“Genuine, all three.”
She snorted softly.
He puffed on his cigar.
At that moment a tall lanky mulatto with deepset eyes and kinky black hair rolled the piano near the door. He was so thin he looked as if a gust of wind would blow him over. “Time to make some music, Ivory?”
“Yessuh.”
“Ivory, I don’t believe you’ve met Miz Downin’, our next-door neighbor. Miz Downin’, my piano man, Ivory Culhane.”
“Miz Downin’.” He removed a black bowler, centering it on his chest as he bowed. Replacing the hat at a rakish angle, he inquired, “What can I play for ya, ma’am?”
How dare these two act as if this was nothing more than an afternoon ice-cream social! Agatha had no wish whatever to exchange pleasantries with the pimp saloon owner, nor with the man whose infernal plunking kept her awake night after night. She gave the latter a sour look and replied tartly, “How about ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our
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