In the days that followed the other negro boys, or at least those with sufficient access to funds each made their right of passage to the room at the end of the long wooden corridor. And so the spark of rumour as fired on by the hearsay on the street corners between the Negros. Naturally it didn’t take long before the white farmers heard about the exploits of the young negros, and though many men tell themselves that theirs is not the ilk of such women, the stories recounted by the young boys beggared belief. And still they continued to church on Sundays, and the sermons from Reverend Quaid, and so days passed. Eventually the weakest among the farmers succumbed to temptation, hardly able to believe the debauched stories of the young negro boys. The first of these was Stephen, the blacksmith, whose small workshop sat opposite the saloon and so provided him no end of temptation until it was all too much to bear, and he made the homage to the Clarissa’s door.
And when it rains, so the saying goes, it pours; Stephen had made the trip, and recounted the events of strange lotions, the smell of cinnamon, vanilla and spices to the other men. This inflamed their curiosity and ardour to the point of no return, until slowly, over the next few months, nearly all of the men of the town made the journey into that, now notorious boudoir. This did not go unnoticed by the Reverend, whose disapproval became palpable at his weekly sermons. His focus on the story of Jezebel fell on dead ears, for men in the throws of such excitement are quite deaf to the preaching of the pulpit. Nor had the situation passed the wretched wives, whose loyalty bore into their hearts like daggers, and yet dared not confront their husband, but milled upon the subject at the weekly sewing circle.
Finally, after several months of this quiet façade, the wives gathered resolved that some action must be taken, and Molly was appointed the most appropriate to lead the action. As such Reverend Quaid was invited to the sewing circle. Quaid was a hawkish figure, with narrow spectacles that perched on the end of a thin and distinctly sloping nose. His beady eyes inspired more fear than admiration in the congregation, and his booming sermons on hellfire often led to the tears and bawling from the younger children.“We must do something, “ Jenny ventured, “I haven’t been with Thomas for nearly three weeks,” she admitted, her cheeks flushed in equal measure with embarrassment and frustration. Jenny was the most recently wed of all the wives, the, nuptials having been completed only three months earlier, and presided over by the Reverend himself. For his part, Quaid’s presence at the sewing circle made the wives feel that a powerful ally had arrived among them, who might be able to help them win back the affections of their husbands.
So it was schemed, that they would make their way down to the saloon that very night, united and in a large group, for in this way they might be able to exert more pressure on the whore to leave the good town. And so they gathered themselves with as much spirit as they might muster and made the long and dark walk to the saloon. The sight of such a great many women caused any witnesses to pause and gawk, for these were women on a mission and who would only be stopped by God or the devil themselves, and woe betide any devil that crossed such a righteous mob. And so it was that they entered the saloon, fire in their eyes. This was no little shock for Old man Walker and his now many patrons, who say drinking and at cards in the wide space of the saloon. Quaid marched boldly to the bar, and demanded to know where the wanton woman was staying, and after much argument and making a riotous scene forced his way up to her room. Then followed a ridiculous scene, wherein Quaid burst into the room, only to find the mayor of the town, Mr Arbuckle, in flagrante with the tramp – much to dismay of his poor wife who was among the throng of the ladies at the door.
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