Tomorrow's Promise

CHAPTER ONE

Sara unbuttoned her blouse and gently touched her baby’s mouth with her breast. Come on, Sweetheart, momma wants you to eat.

With a little more coaxing the baby began to nurse. Sara sighed and began to relax, pulling her shawl over her child’s head. Without warning, the door flew open and a large drunken man stumbled into the room. He stared with bleary eyes at Sara.

Get out of here, she hissed, You’re in the wrong room!

Ah, come on, honey, I’ll treat you right, he said as he staggered toward her.

In the dim light of the oil lamp, Sara recognized the man as the reverend Morgan Cooper. What on earth are you doing here? What do you want? She demanded.

What do I want? Why, I want a good time. He lunged forward and yanked the shawl away, What the devil is this? The Reverend reached out to grab the child. Sara turned with a jerk and stood up knocking the chair over. He kept coming. She kicked him solidly on the shin, he yelped like the dog he was but kept on coming.

What ails you? You old fool. If you came up here looking for one of the girls, you are in the wrong room. I don’t do that! I work in the kitchen. Now, get out or I’m going to start screaming and I’ll tell your wife and the whole town what you’ve been up to!

Huh? What? You know who I am?

Yes, you idiot, I’ve been to your church every Sunday for a month now. You told me I would burn in hell for my sins . . . you . . . you old hypocrite . . . look at you! The baby began to wail, See what you’ve done . . . now, get lost . . . . go away! At last, he seemed to understand. Swinging around and rubbing his eyes, he mumbled about hellfire as he lurched through the door.

Sara blew the hair from her forehead and swayed back and forth to quiet her baby. What a joke he turns out to be, she said to the walls. He has a lot of nerve, calling me a sinner. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she smiled down at her sweet, pink baby boy; the child of her indiscretion. How could this shame bring her such a deep sense of satisfaction? This baby made her feel complete, like she was finally a whole woman. More than anything, Sara wanted to protect this child. If it took lies, she would lie . . .

Sara remembered that afternoon . . . Peter, wonderful smart, and handsome, Peter. He had taken her out for a buggy ride. It was late summer, the day warm and balmy. The wild crabapples were in bloom down by the river. Peter spread a quilt on the grass. He had a basket with elderberry wine and little raisin cakes. He picked her flowers and kissed her. Sara had laughed and smiled, maybe teased a bit. At first, she felt comfortable and loved, but, when she’d said it was time to get back he’d said no. He’d pushed her down and she slapped him. His lips were like fire on her neck. Her heart raced. She was confused and frightened. It was all too much. She felt weak. He’d held her there on the ground, somewhere way off she’d heard a bird, high and shrill. She realized it wasn’t a bird at all. It was the sound of her own wailing and crying, floating out on the breeze. Sara shivered. She was desolate, alone.

In fact, Sara was not alone. Peter was there, too, his face flushed and red. He kept saying, ‘I love you, Sara, I love you. I am so sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to . . .’ his words tumbled away from her having no meaning. Her hands shook as she tried to put her clothes aright. Peter had tried to help her into the buggy and she screamed at him. The ride home seemed to take forever, as they sat in stony silence. The last thing he said that day was, ‘tomorrow I’ll ask your Father for your hand. I love you, I swear, I’ll make it right. Listen to me, Sara, I love you. Please, I . . . forgive me. We’ll get married. It will be all right. No one will ever know. Tomorrow, I’ll come tomorrow.’

But tomorrow never came. Peter disappeared. Sara had no idea where he was. When she knew she was going to have a baby, she decided leaving was the only way to keep her father from disgrace. That had been the first step on the road to Big Black Dahlia’s Saloon . . .

Where ya from, Kid? Dahlia stood with her hands on her amble hips.

I . . . I’d rather not . . .

Fine. Let’s try another one. What’s your name? You got a name, don’t you?

Yes, yes . . . It’s Sara. Sara Holms.

What’s brought you here, Sara? Her tone was not unkind.

Dahlia Simmons stood almost six feet tall and was striking in her beauty. She had warm cinnamon colored skin, shiny black hair, pulled straight from her forehead into a bun pinned with silver combs. Heavy gold hoops hung from her perfect ears. Her eyes were deep blue with a certain boldness that seemed to look deep into Sara’s soul. Her mouth was painted red and showed no hint of a smile. She wore a dark brown dress with a high white collar. In any other setting, she might be mistaken for a schoolmarm. She held a pencil in her hand and kept tapping it on the desk. Finally, she sat down, leaned back and asked again, What brings you here?

I need work. Sara said lifting her head a bit higher.

When is your baby due?

Sara’s light brown eyes filled with tears, Please, I . . . I can work . . . I mean, I can cook and clean.

You know my girls aren’t exactly ladies. Dahlia showed brilliant white teeth as she grinned at her own joke. We get some rough cowboys in here. Not a good place for a youngin’. Where’s your man? The truth, now.

He’s dead.

I see. You know there’s a home over in Barstow for girls in your shape. Why not go there?

No. If you won’t hire me I’ll go somewhere else.

Don’t get your dander up. How are you at doing sums?

Why, I used to . . . . she stopped herself, sat up a bit straighter, I am good at them. Sara wasn’t going to tell this stranger she had been a respected teacher at one time.

Room and board and you can help me with these books. Never was my long suit. Dollar a week to start and you’ll have to keep the kid out of the main room when the time comes. You can help Callie, she’s the cook, and on Mondays there’s the wash. The gals like their petticoats starched stiff. They’re a fussy lot. Dahlia tossed the pencil down on the desk and rose, Come on, I’ll show you your room and let you meet my troop. Not bad girls, mind you, just friendly. She laughed.

The room Dahlia took Sara to was sparse, just a bed, washstand, dresser and a mirror. Sara noticed a rather large window with lace curtains from which she had a nice view of the backyard. The clothesline drooped low with half frozen sheets and night clothes. The privy was farther back, partly hidden by dormant lilac bushes. No other houses were visible but she could see a small stone building. She wondered if it was an ice house. Dahlia’s voice interrupted Sara’s thoughts, You take a few minutes to get used to the place. Callie will have supper in about an hour.

Thank you, Sara said, still looking out the window.

Hey, I just need a bookkeeper, Dahlia said as she shut the door.

Sara stared at her pale face in the mirror. Her gold brown hair was coming loose and her cheeks looked hollow. Fatigue made her look old. With shaky fingers, she smoothed her face. Turning sideways, she patted her stomach. How Dahlia had known about the baby, Sara couldn’t imagine. She had pulled her corset as snug as she could stand. Perhaps the short cape she’d worn didn’t hide her as well as she had thought. Well, I’m a widow, aren’t I? No need to hang my head. She straightened up to her full five feet three, sighed, and went in search of the kitchen.

The kitchen, turned out to be a large room at the back of the building. The pine flooring was bleached white from frequent scrubbings with lye soap. The workbench was covered with piles of carrots, potatoes and a pail full of apples. A small woman with fading red hair worked at the sink.

Callie Dorset worked with quick motions. She often said, ‘if I keep moving the Devil will have a hard time catchin’ me!’ There wasn’t anything she hated more than a lazy person. Turning, Callie saw Sara standing in the doorway, Well, girl, come along, now, and get to peelin these spuds. After that, you can start on the apples. A wormy lot, those.

Yes, mum, Sara answered.

Supper time we feed bout fifteen folks, what with the girls, barmen and that worthless piano player. Miss Dahlia and her man eat with us. Family, not your run o’ the mill, but family, sure as can be. She pushed the hair from her face and sighed, What brings you to Cicero? Got yourself bunged up, I see. Some men are a sorry lot. It’ll work out, you’ll see. I raised my William all alone, bless his heart, and now he’s a lawyer in Bellwood, Illinois. Got a wife and two girls. He’s a good boy, my Willie. Callie worked as fast as she talked.

Callie . . . I’m a widow. My . . . he died . . .

Callie stopped for a minute and her bright eyes looked at Sara. I see. Well, get busy, we got mouths to feed.

Sara knew no one at Dahlia’s believed she was really a widow but most of the people there had their own secrets and didn’t bring it up. At any rate, Sara was far too busy to worry about what folks thought of her. Between cooking, cleaning and washing, Sara added and subtracted for Dahlia. For someone who claimed to be poor at sums, Dahlia kept track of every penny. In one black leather book she kept all the purchases and expenditures. A red leather book contained a record of what each of the girls earned.

One day, Dahlia said, You could make more money if you worked upstairs. A couple of gents been askin’ about you, Sara.

No. I couldn’t. I made one mistake; I don’t what to make another. I mean . . .

Feedin’ yourself ain’t never a mistake, honey. The girls are just providing a service. But some aren’t suited to it, I’ll give you that. Molly’s going to marry one of her fellows. A pig farmer, no less. If you ever change your mind, the door is open.

Callie and Sara ignored the stares of two local women as they stood by the bolts of fabric at Dole’s General Store, Come on, Sara. You can get it. The child will need some clothes. Callie smiled at the younger woman, A baby is a blessed event.

I wish I felt better about the whole thing. But I will get this flannel. I need to make diapers and nightgowns for him . . . maybe it will be a girl. I’m glad you are with me, Callie. My own mother is dead you know. It was just papa and me for so long. I left him . . . . I shouldn’t have, Sara turned away.

Oh, child, a body knows his child will marry and go away. They all do. It’s the natural thing.

Sara nodded, but she thought about how her father must feel. He had not heard a word from her for the last six months. She wanted to write to him and explain but how could she? Oh, yes, papa, I, your only daughter, have shamed you and I’ll be having a poor fatherless baby . . . she blushed at her own thoughts.

Coming in the kitchen door, Sara and Callie were greeted by Anne and Belinda, two of the girls who worked upstairs. Belinda smiled but Anne just looked on. Sara felt uncomfortable around the girls, although they seemed friendly enough.

Are you going to come into the saloon tonight, Sara? Belinda buttered a piece of thick bread and jumped on the counter, A pretty thing like you should get in on the fun.

Belinda! Mind you get off my workbench. And Sara, here, is my helper. I need her here. Callie scolded.

I don’t care what she does! I ain’t staying long myself. Homer Nickerson wants me all to hisself . . . I think I’ll just get him to marry me! She flounced out. Anne shrugged her shoulders and followed.

Nothing more was ever said about it and Sara grew comfortable with her arrangement with Dahlia. The rest of the winter was mild and spring seemed to come early. Sara stopped trying to hide her condition. While at Dahlia’s, she wore loose smocks most of the time, anyway. She had no occasion to go out except for Sunday mornings. For that she still draped herself in a rather large cape. Sara went to hear the reverend Morgan Cooper expound about virtue and sin, after which she used the rest of her morning to get fresh air and think.

Often, when she returned, Anne would be in the kitchen. Sunday was the one day of the week when everyone was on their own. Anne would often read by the fire, sitting in a rocker with her feet on the edge of the stove. She usually barely noticed Sara’s arrival, which was fine with Sara. Sometimes, she would sniff or shift position. One Sunday, she said, You’ll have to give up the cape sooner or later.

What do you mean?

It isn’t going to be cold forever. You figure it out.

Late one night, when Sara had just finished adding the sums, she stood up to stretch. Arching her back, she noticed the moon out the side window. She walked over to gaze at it, thinking how beautiful it was. Sara became aware of a dull pain in her lower back. Sitting too long, she thought. Rolling her shoulders forward, she was caught by a very hard cramp. What’s this? Another one rolled over her making beads of sweat pop on her forehead. Callie . . . CALLIE . . . come quick! Sara screamed.

The pain forced her to the floor. Squatting, Sara struggled to remove her undergarments. Pushing and panting, she screamed again. This baby is coming and it’s coming now. She began to cry. Pain ripped through her like a knife. Pushing and huffing, she fell back for a minute to catch her breath before the next wave of pain hit. One more push, and Sara sat with her knees up, holding a red faced, screaming, fighting mad little baby.

Tears streamed down Sara’s face. She laughed and cried at the same time. Holding the slippery child in her trembling hands, she lay back on the wood floor and closed her eyes. The baby coughed and settled between her breasts.

What in heavens name? Good Lord, girl, what have you done? Callie stared open mouthed at the girl on the floor.

Dahlia rushed in and stopped suddenly. She put her hands on the hips and laughed, Girl, you’ve done it now.

Callie and Dahlia worked together to clean up. Dahlia wrapped the baby in her own soft woolen shawl. Callie hurried to the kitchen to get some warm water and towels, clucking the whole time. After settling the new mother and child on the small bed there in the office, Callie took the afterbirth to the far corner of the yard where she buried it. Dahlia quickly scrubbed the floor and found a nightgown for the baby. Finally, Sara and her son were tucked, clean and warm, in bed.

The two women stood and smiled down at Sara and her baby. I’ve seen babies come into the world before but not like this. Dahlia said.

I haven’t ever in all my born days seen nothing like this. My friend, Sally Mae, labored for nearly three days. Fighting and fury, it was. But not you, Miss Sara. And he’s nice and big, too. What are you naming him? Callie smiled at the two of them.

Taylor Irving, for my father, Holms. Sara whispered. She sank into the soft pillow, took a ragged breath, and began to cry again.

Callie wiped a tear from her own eye and smiled.

Dahlia came close making a cooing sound at the new baby. I never had any children myself. If I’d known it was this easy, I might have given it a try. Not bad for a slip of a gal. He must weigh eight pounds. Look at those big dark eyes, just like yours, honey. Dahlia straightened up and turned to leave. All business now, she said, You can rest a day or two, and then we’ll have to get on with it. Don’t forget, keep him away from the public rooms.

CHAPTER TWO

It wasn’t long before baby Taylor was the one person all the girls wanted to see and hold. He was good tempered, and kicked his little feet and waved his chubby arms, gurgling whenever one of them stopped at his cradle. Very quickly, Taylor was winning the hearts of everyone at Big Dahlia’s. All the girls doted on him except, Anne.

Anne Bainbridge. Anne had a bold look in her coal black eyes. She watched everyone and everything, missing very little. Perhaps she did this because everywhere she went eyes followed her. She was hard to miss. Anne was tall and graceful with wildly curly strawberry red hair, which she piled loosely atop her head. Her face was perfect in its shape and beauty. She was blessed with pale skin, smooth with a hint of color in her cheeks. Anne’s mouth was soft and full lipped. If and when she smiled, it transformed her whole face, making a pretty girl stunning. She moved with an easy gait that suggested she was comfortable with her sexuality. Her breasts and hips were gently rounded and her waist slim. Anne did not gild the lily like the other girls, nature had given her more than she needed to attract men. She rarely said more than a few words. Anne found it easier if she kept to herself. Few, maybe no one, knew why she had chosen this life. But Sara and her baby had caught her attention. Anne had taken to calling Sara, ‘Sweet little Sara’ meaning anything but.

One warm, windy day, Anne stood by the back door smoking a small cigar watching Sara scrub clothes in a large wash tub. Tell me about your ol’ man. She said suddenly.

Who? Sara looked up.

Your ol’ man. You know, your husband? Anne rolled the cigar between her fingers and thumb. She watched Sara through the smoke. Her eyes half shut.

I don’t talk about him much.

Well, how’d he die? Get kicked in the head by a mule or something?

Why do you want to know? It’s none of your business!

I hear you crying, sometimes, that’s all.

Well, I’m not crying for him!

Oh, a young widow not crying for her man, that doesn’t seem right.

Anne, just go away. Please. I’ve got wash to do.

There isn’t one, is there? You never had a husband, did you? You been lying through your teeth.

No.

You aren’t any better than me or any of the other girls, just being uppity. You think you’re better, don’t you, Miss Sara? Anne tossed her smoke and walked away.

Sara stood with her hands clenched tightly around the blouse she was scrubbing. She fought back bitter tears.

From then on Sara tried her best to steer clear of Anne. Even though the house was large, that was not always possible. Anne would smile and wink, when they saw each other, as though they shared a great secret. Sara would blush scarlet and hurry about her work.

One day Sara opened the door to her tiny room to find Anne holding Taylor.

What are you doing in here? Sara demanded.

I heard the kid crying, so I came in . . .

Give him to me! You don’t ever touch him . . . he’s mine!

Fine. Anne said, but made no move to go. He’s a pretty baby. My little girl looked like that, all pink an’ round.

Sara looked at her, You have a baby?

Yes, Anne said, with a sigh, My Hanna is almost three. Smart as a whip, too.

Where is she?

Some place safe. I pay a real nice woman to keep her for me. I’m not going to be here forever.

I’m sorry, it must be hard. not to be able to hug her when you what to.

I see her some. When I can.

I’m sorry.

Shoot, I’m not cut out to be a mother to a crying baby.

Oh? Why did you come in here then?

Just . . . I wanted to see him, that’s all.

It isn’t hard to love a baby. Natural as fallin’ off a log. Gotta let go of yourself though. Sara smiled at her son.

When I’m ready, I’ll get my Hanna.

I wouldn’t wait too long.

Just leave it alone, will you!

Sure.

Look, don’t tell . . . I mean, nobody knows.

I won’t tell.

Anne searched Sara’s face wondering if she could trust her, I haven’t told about you. Just guessing, I was, about your man.

Taylor began to wail. He’s hungry. I better feed him, Sara said.

Mind, now, don’t tell.

No reason to tell.

Anne closed the door as she went out. She made a promise to herself to go see Hanna again soon.

That night, Anne listened to the loud snoring. The man in her bed had fallen asleep. What a pig, she thought. Standing by