a tray with a small dish of crescent-shaped cookies Rodrigo called wedding cakes.
Laura found Amelia seated in one of two comfortable armchairs upholstered in rose chintz. Head back and eyes closed, she appeared to be sound asleep.
Laura set the tray down on a butler’s table without making a sound, but Amelia’s eyes opened and she smiled.
“Mmm. I can smell that from here.” She sat up straighter while Laura took the chair beside her and poured them each a generous cup.
“I love this room,” Amelia let her gaze roam the bookcases. “Hank would too.”
“No gentlemen allowed. This is my secret place.”
“I feel honored that you invited me to share it.”
Laura had first brought Amelia here when they were going over the Larsons’ wedding plans. “You’re the only guest who’s ever been allowed in here—outside of Peaches, of course.” Laura took a sip of coffee, then centered her cup on her saucer. “So, what’s causing that troubled look?”
Amelia sighed and Laura leaned forward. “This has nothing to do with Hank, does it? Is he all right?” Laura hated to think some kind of infection lingered in his system from his gunshot wounds.
Amelia shook her head. “Oh, my goodness, no. He’s healthy as a horse.”
Laura glanced at the medical bag at Amelia’s feet.
“Someone else, then.”
She was surprised when Amelia said, “I was summoned to the Silver Slipper earlier. One of the young women there has fallen desperately ill. I did all I could, but unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t save her.”
The Silver Slipper was Glory’s only saloon and house of ill repute. It was a run-down, two-story building with a sagging balcony across the front and peeling paint on its clapboard exterior.
Laura found herself staring into her cup. She didn’t have to imagine what the place was like inside. Above the saloon there would be a number of small rooms barely wide enough to hold a narrow bed, a washstand, and, if the occupant was lucky, a window to the outside world.
“You…treat them? The women there?”
It was hard to believe someone like Amelia having any contact with the women of the Silver Slipper.
“Of course.” Amelia drained her cup and rested her head on the back of the chair. “I’m surprised you would ask.”
Laura flushed. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just can’t believe—”
Amelia studied her carefully. “Do you think less of me for treating them?”
Laura had forgotten Amelia knew her only as a wealthy, cultured widow. Naturally, if she truly was what she appeared to be, Laura would most likely be shocked at Amelia’s actions.
“On the contrary. I admire you for it,” Laura said truthfully. “Most people would turn their backs on those poor women.”
“My father didn’t. He would say that it’s not up to us to judge them. Judgment is coming sooner than later for the poor girl I saw today.”
Laura remembered the letter she’d just penned and thought of Megan and the countless lost souls like herself, of the untold abuse they suffered at the hands of men.
“Disease?” Laura asked softly.
Amelia shook her head no. Her eyes filled with tears. “She has…self-inflicted wounds. There were complications. I really can’t say more…” Her words drifted away.
She didn’t have to say more. Laura understood. She knew what lengths some women went to in order to keep from bearing unwanted children. She’d suspected as much before she even asked. Seeing how it affected Amelia, she was sorry she had.
“I’m sorry, Amelia.”
Amelia wiped her eyes. “Sometimes it’s very hard,” she said. “Let’s talk of something else. I didn’t get to chat with you after the choir performance the other night. Hattie Ellenberg asked me to help with refreshments and then we left a bit early.”
Laura watched Amelia blush. “Perfectly understandable.”
“So, did you have a nice evening?” Amelia asked.
Nice evening? It had been a mistake from beginning to
Laura found Amelia seated in one of two comfortable armchairs upholstered in rose chintz. Head back and eyes closed, she appeared to be sound asleep.
Laura set the tray down on a butler’s table without making a sound, but Amelia’s eyes opened and she smiled.
“Mmm. I can smell that from here.” She sat up straighter while Laura took the chair beside her and poured them each a generous cup.
“I love this room,” Amelia let her gaze roam the bookcases. “Hank would too.”
“No gentlemen allowed. This is my secret place.”
“I feel honored that you invited me to share it.”
Laura had first brought Amelia here when they were going over the Larsons’ wedding plans. “You’re the only guest who’s ever been allowed in here—outside of Peaches, of course.” Laura took a sip of coffee, then centered her cup on her saucer. “So, what’s causing that troubled look?”
Amelia sighed and Laura leaned forward. “This has nothing to do with Hank, does it? Is he all right?” Laura hated to think some kind of infection lingered in his system from his gunshot wounds.
Amelia shook her head. “Oh, my goodness, no. He’s healthy as a horse.”
Laura glanced at the medical bag at Amelia’s feet.
“Someone else, then.”
She was surprised when Amelia said, “I was summoned to the Silver Slipper earlier. One of the young women there has fallen desperately ill. I did all I could, but unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t save her.”
The Silver Slipper was Glory’s only saloon and house of ill repute. It was a run-down, two-story building with a sagging balcony across the front and peeling paint on its clapboard exterior.
Laura found herself staring into her cup. She didn’t have to imagine what the place was like inside. Above the saloon there would be a number of small rooms barely wide enough to hold a narrow bed, a washstand, and, if the occupant was lucky, a window to the outside world.
“You…treat them? The women there?”
It was hard to believe someone like Amelia having any contact with the women of the Silver Slipper.
“Of course.” Amelia drained her cup and rested her head on the back of the chair. “I’m surprised you would ask.”
Laura flushed. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just can’t believe—”
Amelia studied her carefully. “Do you think less of me for treating them?”
Laura had forgotten Amelia knew her only as a wealthy, cultured widow. Naturally, if she truly was what she appeared to be, Laura would most likely be shocked at Amelia’s actions.
“On the contrary. I admire you for it,” Laura said truthfully. “Most people would turn their backs on those poor women.”
“My father didn’t. He would say that it’s not up to us to judge them. Judgment is coming sooner than later for the poor girl I saw today.”
Laura remembered the letter she’d just penned and thought of Megan and the countless lost souls like herself, of the untold abuse they suffered at the hands of men.
“Disease?” Laura asked softly.
Amelia shook her head no. Her eyes filled with tears. “She has…self-inflicted wounds. There were complications. I really can’t say more…” Her words drifted away.
She didn’t have to say more. Laura understood. She knew what lengths some women went to in order to keep from bearing unwanted children. She’d suspected as much before she even asked. Seeing how it affected Amelia, she was sorry she had.
“I’m sorry, Amelia.”
Amelia wiped her eyes. “Sometimes it’s very hard,” she said. “Let’s talk of something else. I didn’t get to chat with you after the choir performance the other night. Hattie Ellenberg asked me to help with refreshments and then we left a bit early.”
Laura watched Amelia blush. “Perfectly understandable.”
“So, did you have a nice evening?” Amelia asked.
Nice evening? It had been a mistake from beginning to
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