The Spoils of Sin by Rebecca Tope Read Free Book Online

instinctive, sometimes uttering a low growl. ‘Curb that animal!’ they would shout at Fanny.
    â€˜He means no harm,’ she reposted. ‘He merely intends to protect me.’
    The men mostly shrugged and kept their distance.
    It was different in the boudoir. Hugo had to be taught with great firmness that the men who flowed through the door were there by invitation, offering no threat. The men themselves quickly understood that the dog was more than capable of defending its ladies from harm. Hugo lay at the foot of the stairs, ears cocked, while business was being conducted above. Nobody doubted that a single scream of pain or fear, especially from Fanny, would see the great animal hurling himself through the bedroom door to ensure that all was well.
    Five weeks went by, in which Fanny serviced sixty-nine men and Carola seventy. They kept a tally for no better reason than that it amused them, and assisted in financial calculations. None of these many men had been as unpleasant as John on the first evening. Most were quick, relieved in more ways than one, and essentially decent. Some were shy and embarrassed. Some were boastful, convinced of their prowess. Fanny’s first sponge fell apart after four days and was replaced innumerable times. Its purpose as preventer of pregnancy was augmented by a role as successful concealer of the monthly courses in the third week of business. The acquisition of a healthy supply of this essential tool gained a high priority with both girls.
    The weather turned chill and a fire was maintained in the downstairs room. The hours of daylight shrank, so that evening began earlier. Fanny deposited a hundred dollars in the bank, and still had funds to spare for clothes, food and firewood. Calculations as to her financial situation by the end of the coming year made her gasp. Easily a thousand bucks would have accumulated, unless things went very badly wrong.
    The little town had a well-established Methodist Mission, including a school and several paddocks containing beef animals. Loud hymn-singing billowed out through the open windows on Sundays, and various sober-suited men and women came and went, but there was little sense of a religious atmosphere. Fanny had observed a middle-aged couple who she learned were the minister and his wife. They had more of an appearance of ordinary business people than propagators of the Gospel. The Mission had been in existence for a dozen years or more, striving to convince the Flatheads and other Indian tribes that Jesus had died for them, and there was a place for them in heaven if they lived Godly lives. ‘What you see there now is a pale copy of how it was once,’ one of Fanny’s clients told her. He had been a rare individual, in that he had made his home in Chemeketa five years before, and was intent on remaining for the rest of his life. A young wife had died a week after their arrival, leaving him with little hope of finding another. ‘I shall be forty in a year or so, and in no way a handsome catch for a girl,’ he said. ‘I thank Providence for your spirit of enterprise, my dear.’
    Such amicable and informative discussions regularly took place in the bedchamber, on a quiet evening. The girls slowly learned much about the history of the settlement, as well as the characters who lived there. This particular man had made a place for himself as the town recorder, alongside his expertise in drainage. Named Noah Shepherd, he was a well-known and much-liked character. Carola remarked that his unashamed patronage of their services would assist considerably in ensuring their acceptance as part of the life of the town. Fanny had been selected as his favourite, and she quickly discovered his extensive hoard of knowledge concerning the short history of Chemeketa. ‘There was a couple named Lee, who set up the Mission,’ he told her. ‘The wife arrived after almost a year voyaging around the Cape from Boston.