Hour Glass Page 4

  Charlie Utter sneezed a few times to emphasize the point. Dora waved him away.

  “Yes yes, Charlie. I’ll pay the fee. Whatever you say. Joseph, get the girls to come and grab them a cat.”

  “That’s the oddest damn thing I heard you say today, Dora,” said Joseph.

  He disappeared into the brothel, and shortly after, a line of women and girls in various costumes came filing out of Diddlin’ Dora’s. Some were fully painted and wide-eyed like the candy I’d seen earlier, while others looked bleary-eyed and tired. I could only conclude the difference being the night shift versus the day. A particularly pretty young one with bouncy blonde hair moved to take the spot closest to me. She wore a maroon dress with black lacy bits, and the outfit fit well in all the places men found fascinating. The smell of cinnamon wafted over me, and I tried mightily to keep my head on my shoulders.

  “What’s this all about, kid?” she asked with a cock of the head.

  “Uh . . . Jimmy. The name’s Jimmy.”

  “Pleasure, Jimmy. I’m Missy, but everyone calls me Lil’ Missy. Now, what’s all this about?”

  “Dora . . . she uh . . . bought some cats.”

  “Cats?”

  “That’s enough, Missy,” interrupted Jane. “He ain’t got no money.”

  Missy made a piggy face at Jane and stuck out her tongue as all eyes turned to Dora DuFran. The grand lady took to grandstanding like a hog to slop. No doubting that. With the aid of Charlie Utter’s hand, Dora mounted the wagon. With a wave of her arms, she made her announcement loudly to the crowd.

  “All right girls, come and pick you out a new friend. There’s plenty, so don’t rush. Every one of my girls here at Diddlin’ Dora’s gets her a cat.”

  Charlie unlatched the crate as Dora gingerly plucked a growling black cat out of the lot by the scruff of its neck. The cat, though still plenty pissed off, sullenly curled her tail up and tucked her legs, as was the instinct when carried by a mother. A skinny brunette stepped forward and cradled the cat in her arms, a happy smile across her face. With a crooked finger, she scratched behind the cat’s ears, and the feline forgot her previous anger.

  The rest of the girls lined up, all suddenly excited for their new prize.

  “I’ll bite, Dora. What’s with the cats? A pussy for the pussies?” Jane called up with a cackle.

  Dora handed another cat to another waiting set of arms and then scowled down at Jane. The look that woman gave could have cut a mountain in two, it was so sharp. I was right glad it weren’t directed at me.

  “You really shouldn’t cuss in front of the little one.”

  The lot of us looked over to Hour, who was enraptured by the cat handling procedure and not caring a lick about what anyone was saying. She didn’t watch Dora so much as Dora’s hands as she handed out one furry bundle after another. Charlie Utter smiled from his wagon at Hour. She seemed to inspire that in kinder people. I didn’t know the man from anything but reputation, and that in particular spoke very highly of him from the start. Everyone liked Charlie Utter for his fair dealing and sturdy spine.

  “I tell you what,” he said, rummaging around in the depths of his garish wagon. “Here you go, little darlin’. Take this.”

  He handed what looked to be an empty milk jug to Hour. She took it and gazed inside at its lack of contents but said nothing. I reckoned the milk had been used to feed the fussy cats on the terrible trip to Deadwood. Not a lick was left now, but my sister focused on the play of sunlight against the curving glass.

  “This is a swear jug. Any time anyone swears in front of you, especially Jane, they have to put a penny in it for you. What you say to that?”

  Hour briefly looked at Charlie Utter’s face and then back down to the jug as though it had magic hidden somewhere inside. Maybe it did. Her mouth formed a little oval with astonishment as she tried to unlock the secret in its glass innards.

  “Charlie Utter, you sorry son-of-a-bitch—” began Jane, but she was cut short.

  “Jane swore,” said Hour just as plain as day.

  Everyone looked to her then, amazed that she said something so succinctly and precisely, except Charlie Utter, who didn’t know about my sister’s lack of verbal abilities among strangers. It was as if she and I were talking alone, the words came so easily from her mouth. Moments ago she couldn’t even recite her name fully and now a whole sentence. Well, most of a sentence anyway.

  Then she held out the jar to Jane, ready to collect her penny. Her face was resolute, as if there were no other recourse than this. Mr. Utter had gifted her the magic jug, and Jane did swear. Everyone began to laugh loudly. Even some of the girls collecting cats laughed without knowing exactly what was going on. Charlie slapped his knee with hysterical glee at the sight.

  Jane acted temporarily insulted but nonetheless fished out a copper penny from her pocket and plopped it into Hour’s new swear jug with a wink and a smile at the little girl. Her sour face turned back toward Charlie Utter as did her tongue.

  “Oh so very clever, Mr. Utter. Tell me, is you’re good-fer-nothin’ brother around here with you?”

  “No, Jane. Steve ain’t going to come around Deadwood for a while after you pistol-whipped him like you did.”

  “He deserved it, and he knows it.”

  “Yes he did, but that don’t mean he wants to come back to court calamity with Calamity Jane.”

  “Oh, piss out your ass, Charlie fuckin’ Utter,” shot Jane.

  She spat at the ground and immediately pulled out a penny and dropped it into Hour’s outstretched jar before Hour could ask her to. I laughed silently to myself thinking about how lucrative Mr. Utter’s new jug would be the longer we stayed with Calamity Jane.

  Lil’ Missy was the last one to step forward and receive a cat. Hers was a rather wiry Siamese cat with blue eyes, which she named Puddin’ on the spot. When asked why call the creature Puddin’, she only answered with a shrug of her pretty shoulders and hugged the cat to her chest. All the girls milled about with their new pets, stroking and cooing at them in turn. Most of the cats desperately wanted down and away from the clamor of the crowd.

  “Now, take them to yer rooms before they get loose. They are yers to keep and care for. Don’t say I never brung you nothin’. Hurry on now, the dinner rush will be in two hours. Go on,” shouted Dora over the raucous flirting.

  All the girls filed back into Diddlin’ Dora’s one after another, holding their new friends. Dora smiled, pleased with herself. She made to descend from Charlie Utter’s garish wagon, but a rustle inside the crate stopped her. We all peeked inside when we heard the meowing. Beneath the hay and a bit of fabric, appeared a calico kitten, smaller than the rest. Its little green eyes searched around for what had become of her traveling companions. Dora gently lifted the kitten as she had done the others and examined her above us all.

  “Joseph, did every girl get a cat?”

  “Yes’m. Looked to be that way.”

  “Then it looks to be we got a spare.”

  “I procured an extra cat in Rapid City in the event one got loose or somethin’ likewise happened to them. They were a rowdy bit of company, I tell you what. Not this one though. She weren’t too bad, as far as cats go.”

  “Looks like she’s the runt of the litter,” observed Dora.

  The kitten mewed as a new set of hands reached for her. It all happened so fast, the whole thing was like in a dream. Hour handed me the swear jug as she moved forward and reached for the kitten. Her finger twitched with the intensity of her want. Her eyes were transfixed on the furry creature like it was made of gold. Jane followed her progress with her eyes but didn’t speak up until it was clear Hour couldn’t reach the kitten under her own power.

  “Dora, I think you got yourself a taker for that one,” said Jane, nodding down at Hour’s outstretched hands.

  Dora smiled down at my sister a
nd handed her the kitten with more care than she had shown any of the other cats. Hour took the small thing and held it to her cheek, seeking to feel the warmth of fur on her face. I had never seen her show such affection to anyone or anything before, not even me or Pa. Then again, we never bothered having pets out by the creek. No point with wolves and wild dogs and the like.

  The kitten tucked herself neatly against Hour’s jaw. Soon, we could all hear the steady rumbling of her purring. My sister shut her eyes to better feel her purr, rocking her body ever so slightly left and right.

  “Ain’t that sweet,” said Dora.

  “It sure is, but I don’t buy it for a minute that you bought them cats and sent Charlie Utter all the way to Rapid City fer them out of the good of that ample chest of yours, Dora DuFran. That dog just don’t hunt. What’s this all about?”

  Dora smiled and sauntered her way to the edge of the wagon with a little swagger in her step. Charlie Utter and Joseph helped her down, and she strode up to Jane in a grandiose way.

  “You’ve heard, I’m sure, of the word cathouse?”

  “I heard some such ridiculous thing.”

  “Yeh, you heard it, because it’s my word. I came up with it. Gonna make it famous long after I’m dead and buried. Ya’ll will see.”

  “You came up with a word for a house with a bunch of whores, and then you propagate it by filling said house with cats?”

  “I’ll explain for those among us who may be slow,” Dora said while nodding to Jane. “Them cats cost me nothin’ in the grand scheme of things. You know what costs a fortune? Food. You know what else costs a fortune? Dead girls. The cats offer me a two-part battle against them both. They kill and eat the rodents who would eat my food and leave their nasty little leavins in the grain, and they give much needed companionship to the girls. Girls with something to care for and about don’t go runnin’ off or dyin’ on me. It’s a win-win. It’s a cathouse.”

  Jane smiled at her friend.

  “You are a clever woman, I’ll hand it to you, Madame DuFran.”

  “Thank you, Jane. Now, little Hour, what sort of name you think you gonna give to that sweet, little girl kitten of yours?”

  “Fred.”

  Hour answered her, much to my disbelief, but she did. The name was as clear as a bell, and we all laughed at the notion of a girl cat named Fred. Charlie Utter slapped his knee again, wiping tears from his face with the handkerchief.

  “I’ll be damned. A girl kitten named fuckin’ Fred,” he said with a chuckle.

  Hour’s head shot up and looked at Mr. Utter with that intense stare she had given Jane only minutes earlier. She pointed at the jug I was still holding for her with one hand while she held the kitten with the other.

  “Swear,” she said clearly.

  Jane and Dora nearly busted with laughter. It was infectious. Despite the reason we were in Deadwood enjoying the kindness of these people, I couldn’t help but laugh. My sides ached in a pleasant way, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like everything might be all right. We would stay here with these people, Hour and me, and Pa would get better. For a minute, I wished that Hour could laugh the way we did, but I didn’t worry about it much. She had gained a fine new name, a kitten named Fred, and a swear jug all in one day.

  “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, Charlie Utter!” shouted Jane.

  With a sour smile, he pulled forth from his pocket a shiny copper and dropped it into the swear jug I held out for him.

  5

  The first night in that tiny room of Dora’s, voices I thought were long gone from the world drifted in. Perhaps it was the creaking stiffness of the place or the cot I was unaccustomed to. Either way, I floated in between the here and there like a ghost hearing voices on the wind. One moment awake and the next stepping toward a woman I once knew. An impossible woman. A woman long since dead.

  Hour’s mother came to take me to a place I hadn’t gone to in years. I didn’t see the woman in her entirety, yet I knew it was her because it was that silent, insistent way of hers. She whispered words long forgotten; words meant to take me places.

  With a flash, I was a young boy walking through the tall, wet grass next to my pa, who led our mule loaded down with furs to trade. His pistol was in the holster on his hip and his rifle sat strapped to the mule’s saddle.

  Before us was a Lakota camp. The smell of meat and smoke wafted toward me. That’s when it stopped feeling like a dream. Teepees covered in skins were arranged near each other. I tried to catch a glimpse of the symbols painted on the hides but didn’t stare long so as not to appear rude. The Lakota customs were odd to me, and I didn’t want to offend. Women and children eyed us from inside their homes. One woman grabbed her little one from running too close to us and yanked her away.

  “Wasichu,” she whispered to the girl before tucking her back inside one of the teepees.

  “Pa?”

  “Yeh, Jimmy?”

  “What’s ‘wasichu’ mean?”

  “I reckon it’s white man or white devil. Somethin’ along those lines.”

  “We in trouble here?”

  I reckon not. Injun Joseph is yonder, up there with the men. He’s a half-breed and vouched for our good nature. See there? That’s him tellin’ them our bonafides. We’re here under invitation for trade.”

  I followed his pointing to see a man I knew well enough. Pa and Joseph knew one another, and he smiled at us as we approached. The other men did not seem terribly pleased with our presence though. The scowls on their faces, darkened by the sun, were hard. The men wore their hair straight and long like the women and tied bits of leather and feathers throughout their black strands. I wondered at the limit of our so-called invitation.

  Next to Pa and Joseph was a woman. She was younger than her companions but held the same incredulous expression, arms folded over her chest. Her two long braids were carefully tied and adorned with round charms of carved wood. She wore a dress made of hide so fair it looked almost white in the morning sunlight. I wanted to ask her if it was buffalo hide, and if the triangular bits sewn in a pattern throughout it were bone, but the severity of the air around her made me keep my young mouth shut.

  Pa must have seen my amazement and whispered down to me before he went to meet them.

  “Joseph said she and some other Lakota were kidnapped as kids and held as slaves at a white camp for a while. She’s a legend ’round here ’cause she escaped and led the warriors back to the youngins. While she was there, she learned a piece of English, so she helps translate since I can’t talk Sioux.”

  My mouth hung open as I stared in awe at my pa. He handed me the reins of our mule as he patted my head. I was left there as he approached the congregation of people before us alone. The only kind face he found was Joseph’s, but my pa grinned and nodded politely at the introduction of each person. He was quite a charmer, my pa.

  Then the gathering removed their respective weapons and laid them on the grass at their feet, a sign of peaceful disarmament and negotiation. Pa removed his pistol, Joseph his rifle, and the three other Lakota men laid down their various weapons and blades. All complied except the Lakota woman. I couldn’t help but notice she had a small knife tied to a belt around her waist, but she made not one motion to remove it, and no one asked her to.

  Pa smiled at her wider then, as if her unwillingness to comply won a bit of admiration. He flashed the grin that often won the favor of people he dealt with, but the lady didn’t budge one inch with that scowl of hers, and her arms remained fixed in their place across her chest. She was having none of his usual charms.

  Trading talks began, and I soon began peering around at other things to interest my young mind. Women scraped at the hide of a carcass just out of sight of my father. They eyed the meeting with curiosity but kept themselves hidden with their work. Some younger men stalked the edge of the tree
line near the tall grass. I reckoned maybe they were trying to flush out hares.

  A gaggle of kids about my age played at a game nearby that I didn’t understand. There were pronged sticks and a ball of sorts, but the mechanics of it eluded me. What didn’t elude me was the sight of a smaller boy, much smaller than the others, trying to join in. Every time he did though, one or more of the kids yelled at him in words I also did not understand. The scene was the same in any culture, and I knew a little kid being bullied by bigger kids when I saw it.

  Again and again, the small boy tried to grab at a stick and join the game. Each time he was rebuked, and the rejections were getting more and more severe with the other boys’ irritation. I watched the spectacle, but with each shove to the side, my feathers ruffled more and more.

  The final straw was when three of the larger boys teamed up against the smaller one and shoved him into a mud heap just a ways from where the game was being played. They had taken the effort to pick up a few handfuls of the black stuff and throw it on the boy as further humiliation. I guessed it was to embarrass him so much that he’d give up. A few others laughed at the little one, and it was about all I could take.

  I led Betty, our mule, to a nearby tree. She huffed at me a bit but went willingly when she spotted a patch of clover in the direction I was taking her. After tying her reins to the tree, I stalked over to the fray in progress. The boys didn’t hear me approaching, so I yelled good and loud as I came up behind them.

  “Hey! Leave him be!”

  I never figured my words would have such an effect. The Lakota boys practically leapt out of their skins at the sound of my voice. I weren’t a small boy for my age, but most of the boys were far bigger than me. They turned on me with wide eyes and trembling mouths. It didn’t dawn on me that my white words and white skin had been the real reason for their fear. Nevertheless, those boys high-tailed it away, leaving me with the smaller boy stuck in the mud.