The Prostitute - A Short Story - Part I

In the wide open plains of the United States at the turn of the 19th century there sprung up a great many little towns. These were made up of good, wholesome folk who believed that theirs was the lot of God. And Goodson, Kansas was no exception. Laid out about 200 miles east of the Appalachian mountains, the small community had come out west seeking their fortunes. Resolved in their wholesomeness, they moved in and built a church, a town hall, and a post office through which the new fangled telegraphs could run and all manner of other necessities needed for a prosperous young town to possess. They also built a saloon, which also doubled as the local inn, so as t allow weary travelers on the road to California food and accommodation. As the size of the congregation grew, so did the diversity of the people. There were the original farmers, who were there to plough the land and sow the cotton that was the basic commodity of the village. Farmers like Jake, a middle aged man with a wife and young daughter. He would toil away in his fields with his slaves, Abraham and Jacob during the hot summer days, and at night he would return home to his wife's home cooking. Later, once he had eaten a simple meal of corn and sometimes meat, he would tell his young daughter stories until she faded off into the warm arms of sleep. Then there was Stephen, the smith who sweated over the blazing coals to show the horses and nags of the farmers. He supported his family, two young sons and spent his free time teaching them how to fish in the river that ran through the village. There were also a great many other men who lived in the village, until the total population reached to over two thousand souls, each of good and wholesome stock.

Indeed the village was full of men like Jake, who were working their fields and making a life for themselves, safe in the knowledge that they were living well before God and man alike. Reverend Quaid, an Irishman who had left home to spread the word of God and look after his lambs presided over the congregation. An austere man of later years Reverend Quaid believed in the simple code of the Bible, and the virtue of hard work. He read to congregation from the scripture on Sunday mornings, and heard their confessions in the afternoon, absolving them of any transgressions that might come about through moments of weakness. He did this for Abraham and Jacob, even despite their being coloured, because Quaid believed that they were still creations of God, and so worthy of his forgiveness, as he did of Jake and Stephen and all their wives and children. And so the town prospered and grew and all was well with Goodson.

Then one day, as the sun was setting and the cool breeze whistled through the main street, a peculiar carriage drew into the village, and set still in front of the inn. This was not unusual in itself since the residents were used to having lodgers come through their small corner of the earth. But they were shocked at the young lady who disembarked that balmy evening. She was dressed in the finest Parisian fashions, with a bonnet of bright crimson such that made all the wives right green with envy. When she sashayed into the saloon for the first time her figure caught all of the men so unaware that a moment of silence descended over the usual din of good cheer. She was a young little thing, no older than twenty but despite her few years she had a fierce fire behind her cobalt blue eyes that none of the men could have imagined. Her fine hips were shown off through the luxurious dress that she wore, and skin so pale and cool it might as well have been made from the finest porcelain.

She took a room at the inn, and had her numerous cases taken up, whereupon she paid the saloon owner in crisp cash notes. And there it was she stayed for the first few nights. She would come down in the evenings, dine alone in the restaurant on whatever food the menu provided, always polite in her manner. And after the fourth night of her stay, word had got out among the men of the town that a creature in such fine linens and of such beauty was staying at the inn that it was like an angel had been lost from heaven itself. They crowded into the saloon just to get a glimpse of her, in the manner of teenage boys. This was much to the gratitude of old man Walker, who had found his business a little quiet since Reverend Quaid had joined them at the Church. She spoke with no one except for Walker, and only to order food or deal with practical issues arising from the tedium of daily life in Goodson. This naturally led to the rumour mill in the town to start slowly turning its rusty cogs, until, only after seven nights of her staying the gossip ran like a summer fire through the congregation.

......to be continued......