Page 67 of The Enchanted Land

Later, Morgan always hated to remember the trip across the desert. Never had she imagined such a horrible place existed. They broke camp before full daylight and camped again before the hottest part of the day. There were no more campfires. The rich stews they had enjoyed were now memories. They ate dried meat and dried cornmeal. Water was strictly rationed, and the dry food stuck in their throats.

Morgan clamped her hands over her ears to block out the whimpering of Little Flower’s baby. His mother did not have enough water to replenish her milk supply, so the baby was hungry. Morgan shared her water with Little Flower until Jacques found out.

“Do you think I go to all the trouble of bringing you across the mountains just to have you blow away? If you give more of your water away, I will kill the squaw and then the baby will have no milk at all.”

One good thing came of the journey across the desert. Jessy and Mary stopped quarreling for a while, neither had the energy for it. During the hot afternoon, they lay in the scanty shade, barely able to breathe the scorching air. The horses were kept under crude shelters, rigged each day.

Eventually, gradually, they began to encounter green plants and they knew that San Francisco was near. Morgan felt the ring she kept on a rawhide thong around her neck, and dreamed of Seth.

Early one morning, Jacques and two of the Indians saddled horses for the four women captives, and, leaving the other Indians in camp, they began the last leg of the trek into San Francisco.

Chapter Fourteen

AFTERthree days of hard riding, they arrived in San Francisco in the dead of night. Jacques led them down alleys to the side of a three-story frame house. The women were too tired to notice much about their surroundings. A small, pretty mulatto girl opened the door.

“Get Madame Nicole right away. Tell her Jacques is come.”

The girl scurried away, and quickly a large-breasted woman with masses of coal-black hair appeared in the doorway. Her skin was beautiful, flawless and unlined. She might have been beautiful, except that she weighed nearly two hundred pounds. Surprisingly, she carried her weight as if she were a young girl. Her walk was graceful and her movements were delicate.

“Jacques! How good to see you!” Her voice was pretty and young. There was a slight French accent that was very becoming.

Jacques threw his arms around Madame Nicole and lifted her enormous body off the ground. The woman blushed like a schoolgirl. “Jacques—you devil! How I have missed you!” She slid down across his body to plant a kiss on his mouth. After several seconds, they broke their embrace.

“There aren’t many real women left,” he said, giving the large woman a knowing look. “So I brought some of those skinny little gals those half-men of yours like. I think you’re really going to like one of ’em.”

She looked at him quizzically. “I am not about to lose you, am I, Jacques?”

He smiled at her, looking her up and down. “It’d take all four of them to make half the woman you are.”

She smiled at him, a smile of pure joy. “Later we will find out if you mean your words. But first, business.” Immediately, she changed from lover to business-woman, and assessed each of the tired, dirty women.

“The blonde,oui?”

Jacques winked his reply. “Could hardly keep my Apaches from her. Real looker when she’s clean.”

“Good! They are just in time for Christmas. We are going to make four men very happy this Christmas.”

Madame Nicole clapped her hands twice, many bracelets flashing. Instantly, four serving girls appeared. She gave orders, and Morgan found herself escorted up some narrow stairs to a bedroom. The sight of the bed, the first she had seen in months, held her entranced. She walked toward it as if hypnotized.

“No, no!” The girl took Morgan’s arm. “Madame will not allow anyone so dirty to sleep in her clean bed. Carrie will bring water. You must bathe first.” She led Morgan to a chair and moved a screen to reveal a large, red porcelain tub on gold claw feet. The girl, Carrie, arrived, and soon the tub was full of steaming hot water. Morgan allowed herself to be undressed and then she stepped into the tub.

The water seemed to soak through her body, even to her bones, and she enjoyed the rough scrubbing the girls gave her skin and scalp. She was stepping out of the tub into a heated towel when Madame Nicole entered.

The large woman appraised her as if she were a piece of furniture. “Ooh la la! You are by far the best of the four. In fact, you may be the best I have ever presented. You will bring a very high price.”

Morgan stared at her in contempt. “What right have you to sell anyone? I am a person, not an article of merchandise.”

The big woman threw back her head and laughed. “So, a crusader. I sometimes forget that such as you still exist. So often the women Jacques brings me have lived in poverty all their lives. They find all this”—her hand took in the room—“a dream. They like the luxury and the cleanliness.”

Morgan clenched her teeth. “But your people kill their families! My husband was killed.”

“Oh, yes, that is necessary.” She dismissed the subject. “We cannot have angry relatives coming after our women. I would lose all my clients. Anyway, men are easily replaced.”

“Not all men!”

“So you had not been with your lover long enough for the bloom to wear off. After your hands had cracked from the lye soap, and your body had worn out from bearing his children, you would be glad to trade for a life like this.”

“No matter what, this is a whorehouse! I won’t be used!”

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