by Susan Thomas
It was his first day as sheriff so he was taking particular care about his appearance. This was a good town, with decent hard working folk, and it was important for him to create a good impression right from the start. He stared at his reflection in the cracked looking glass that hung on a wall in his small rooms; lean, sun-browned, stern, his brown hair cut unfashionably short, clean shaven, and with those oddly gray eyes. He still couldn't believe he'd ended as sheriff of such a good town. It could have been so different a story.
He'd run from home at just fourteen to avoid yet another of his father's uncontrollable drunken rages. With his mother gone and in her cold grave, there was nothing to keep him. Adrift in a tough world without his mother's guidance there was also nothing to keep him on the straight and narrow. Nothing that it is until Liam Connors.
When, in a whiskey-fueled rage he had taken a gun and vowed, egged on by other whiskey- fueled idiots, to kill Ben Marsh, Liam had saved him. He'd knocked him down and taken him to his room where he got him sober, boxed his ears and told him firmly he was on the road to Hell... via the gallows. Liam's guidance, more manly but essentially the same as his ma's, took him on a different path.
Yes there had been violence, tough times and danger, but this time it was on the side of law and order. He had killed, and almost been killed, but always Liam had been there to guide him. Then came the day when the older man had married a wealthy widow. The widow needed a man in her bed and a man to protect her two daughters who were just coming to their teenage years. The temptation of an easy retirement was too much and Liam took it.
It was Liam's guidance that had led him to apply for the job of sheriff here in this quiet, respectable but gradually growing town. Today was his first day and he planned to simply walk the town and talk to people. All went well. They were friendly. He talked, he watched, he listened and he learned. Then came the conversation.
"Sheriff, I'm real pleased to welcome you and I don't rightly know this is a matter for an officer of the law. Trouble is, it might become so. Fact is, only last night I had to take a hairbrush to my wife because of it, and for the second time. I know I ain't the only one."
He'd replied in an easy way, making sure that the man understood he was approachable. "Why don't you run it by me and I'll see if I can help."
"It's that Mrs. Calvert woman, claims she's a widow lady but I have my doubts. Lives in a big house, not the biggest but real nice, with her maid and a cook. She starts and stores trouble the whole time. Sets the women to gossiping and even men to fighting one another. I'm not the only one to be concerned but no one knows quite how to deal with her. This really was a nice respectable town until she came here. Now it's slowly changing. Just one damned woman... pardon me Sheriff, but she makes me so mad."
He was trying hard to think how to deal with this problem, strictly speaking not a job for a sheriff, when suddenly the complainant spoke urgently.
"Look there she is, over there, walking past. That's Mrs. Calvert."
Idly he followed the man's gaze and exclaimed, "Oh her!" The sight of her shocked him. "Right, leave this with me. I'll see what I can do."
Liam's guidance in life had not included celibacy. They'd spent a year protecting a wealthy man who made regular visits to Madam Blanche's elite establishment for gentleman in Denver. For Liam the girls were free and, as it turned out, also for him. A side benefit of a well paid job. He'd learned a great deal about satisfying a woman from those girls. There was no doubt, no doubt at all, that Madame Blanche was now none other than Mrs. Calvert.
Madame Blanche, or Mrs. Calvert as she now claimed to be, didn't remember him. Why would she. She thought that it was simply a courtesy call by the new sheriff. He was invited in and the maid brought refreshments.
"Thing is Mrs. Calvert, I've had a complaint about you, gossiping and stirring up trouble between folks."
"Even if the complaint is true, Sheriff, I fail to see how it is a matter for you."
"Oh yeah I see that. Not really is it, although any fights arising would be, however, fact is gossip is a two-edged sword. It is so easy to start. I could start gossip the moment I leave. It's like lighting a fire and once started... well, who knows how fierce that fire may burn."
Mrs. Calvert had laughed mockingly. "And what, Sheriff, would you start gossiping about?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe about Madame Blanche and an elite gentlemen's establishment she ran in Denver. She wouldn't remember me, I was just protecting a rather important man, but I remember her well enough. Very well in fact."
Mrs. Calvert had gone very still indeed and very quiet.
He had looked her straight in the face and said very firmly, "I'll give you a plain choice Mrs. Calvert. Mend your ways immediately or get out of town."
Three days later she had left and the new sheriff's reputation had been firmly fixed. He was a man who got things done.
Clara lay still in the tiny box room that she, as the eldest of six children, occupied all by herself. In fact it was so small that it would have been hard to share it with anyone else, but it was a privilege treasured by Clara, and envied by her brothers and sisters. Her two younger sisters shared another room and her three brothers a somewhat larger one. The boys fought and her sisters quarreled, while she was able to keep things just the way she wanted.
Through the wall that separated her from her parents' room came the sound of talking. Clara sometimes heard her mother doing her marital duty. The squeaking of the bed springs and the banging of the head rail against the wall told its story to Clara. Her mother had told her nothing about such things, but her older married cousin, Mary, had instructed her.
Mary enjoyed what happened in her bed each night although Clara found it hard to believe any woman could enjoy such a thing. The sounds that came through the wall as her mama did her duty told her that her mama also enjoyed her duties. Clara mostly put a pillow over her head so that she did not have to listen. Clara had already decided that she would never marry. There wasn't a man alive who was worth having to do all that. She couldn't imagine herself ever crying out with intense pleasure at such an activity.
The talking ended and now came a new sound. Clara knew that sound too. Her mother was being spanked. Her father's hand was smacking down hard and Clara knew it was on her mother's bare bottom. Her mother had told her about her marital discipline. She had sung her father's praises to a disbelieving Clara.
"Darling, he is such a good husband. He never uses his belt on me, much less his fists. He just spanks me instead."
Clara guessed why she was hearing that steady smacking sound which was now accompanied by little cries from her mother.
Money was tight in the Pomry family. Her father worked at the Troughton Manufacturing factory and although his weekly wage wasn't too bad it was the main support for the eight of them. As her father said, "Three girls and all their clothing don't come cheap." Father had said that her mama could not have a new cast iron pan even if it could be bought cheaper as he worked at the factory. He was saving for Clara's wedding. Her mama knew full well that Clara had no intention of ever marrying Peter Garston no matter how everyone thought him a fine young man. Her mama knew just how stubborn Clara could be so had bought the pan anyway. After all it was she that had to cook for all eight of them.
Now her mama's bottom was paying the price for her disobedience. It was too late to take the pan back because Mama had used it immediately. Clara hoped the pan was worth it because the spanking was long and hard. Smack! Smack! Smack! Her mother's cries were now shrill even through the wall and Clara guessed her mother's bottom was now very hot indeed. Clara understood her father's anxiety. He had to support them all and he was very worried about having three daughters to marry off. Even the cheapest wedding cost and he simply didn't believe she would refuse ever to marry. Girls got married. That was how it was.
The spanking ended and Clara placed a pillow over her head. For reasons she simply didn't understand, her mama's spankings often ended, shortly after, with squeaking bed springs and her mother screaming out her pleasure in no uncertain terms. She did not wish to listen to that. Clara began instead to think hard about her own life. She hated living in Troughton. The small town depended on Troughton Manufacturing which made a huge range of metal goods, from cooking ranges through to pots and pans and beyond, into other goods which changed over time. Close the huge factory and the town would die.
Life in Troughton revolved around the factory. The majority of men worked there and women were expected to marry those men and produce the next generation of workers. Clara knew she was overdue to marry. At twenty-two she could already have been married with maybe one or even two children, but she had ambition... something most folks in Troughton simply lacked. At seventeen, confined to the house 'helping' her mother, but in fact learning the duties of a housewife, she had rebelled. She had approached Elias Runshaw, the owner of Troughton Manufacturing, and asked for a job in his office.
Elias Runshaw had been amused by her gall and, much to the annoyance of the head clerk, given her a job. Clara had been the only clerk in the office to master the new Remington typewriter purchased by Mr. Runshaw against the wishes of all his clerks. The head clerk had begun to hate Clara because she constantly went over his head to Mr. Runshaw with helpful suggestions. Elias was no fool and could see that Clara had a good head on her young shoulders. Within three years the older clerks had retired and Clara had persuaded Elias to appoint girls to do their jobs. Within four years, apart from the head clerk, five girls, and only five girls, worked in the office. They did the work previously done by seven men, thus saving Elias two whole wage packets.
The town was shocked. Women should not be working in the town's office, that was not how things were done in Troughton. However, the families of the five girls were more accepting. The girls were paid, true not as much as the male clerks, but a good income all the same. The girls all gave their parents a share of their wages as was right and proper, and that helped the families enormously. However, Clara also made the girls save rather than spend a good chunk of what was left.
"Girls," she told them, "we never know when we may need to have some money. If we spend it all we will forever be totally dependent."
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