South Dakota 1870’s

 

Present time, Mason Falls, ten miles from Yankton.

 

“You harlot.” The strident tones of the woman as much as the words stopped Laura Prentice in her tracks. She nearly dropped a tray of cakes on the floor of Ye Old English Tea House.

Her hands flew to her face and she gasped in shock as pieces of rotten fruit splattered down the front of her gown. The faces in the crowd were contorted with hatred, and Laura nearly collapsed in fear. She gritted her teeth to stop from falling into a shivering heap in the doorway. Frantically she gazed around for help, none was forthcoming.

“She’s not fit to mix with God fearing folk,” screamed a woman dressed in brown.

“We should tar and feather her. Run her out of town,” screeched another.

The crowd was growing, pushing to get inside the shop. Laura knew she couldn’t show fear or they would be on her like a pack of rabid dogs.

Thank goodness. She almost collapsed with relief as the sheriff strode up, his badge glistening in the sunlight, his spurs clinking. His young deputy scurried along a few paces behind him.

“What in tarnation is going on?” He pushed his way through the crowd. “Who started this ruckus?”

“She did, Flame, the filthy harlot. Even the name is an abomination,” the woman in brown yelled.

“Move on,” the sheriff ordered. “See that they do,” he instructed his deputy who immediately complied.

“Now, miss.” He followed a trembling Laura into the dining area of the tea house and slammed the door. “What’s this all about?”

“I don’t know, Sheriff, they just came up and started screaming abuse.” She blinked back tears. Dare she tell him the whole sordid tale?

“Those sanctimonious old biddies from the Temperance Society have appointed themselves the keepers of the town’s morality. What in tarnation did you do to get them so riled up?”

“I don’t really know any of them, a couple may have come in here for tea and cake when my mother was here, but I’m not sure. What are you going to do?”

“They haven’t really done anything, so all I can do is disperse them.”

“What about the rotten fruit they threw at me?” She glanced at her stained gown.

“Did you see who actually threw it?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m sorry. My advice is close your shop up for a couple of days until they get rid of the burrs under their saddle blankets.

“Thank you.” Weak with shock she staggered back as he took a couple of paces toward the door before swinging around.

“Make sure you lock everything up. I’ll keep an eye on the place when I do my nightly rounds.”

“Thank you.” She waited until he strode off then did as he instructed, checked the windows and securely bolted the front door. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She and her mother had lived in rooms at the back of the shop, and now her mother had left she had thought to make a comfortable living for herself. Would have, had the hand of fate not been raised against her.

Her life lay in ruins. She had to get out of town. Go far away.  Someone must have recognized her as Flame, a whore from the Gold Anchor. A customer maybe? Alex? If only she had ordinary colored hair she could have melded in with everyone, but her ginger curls stood out like a beacon.

She slumped on a chair, folded her arms across her chest and rocked from side to side. Flame, she had never thought to ever hear that name again. Why didn’t she pack up and go the moment she arrived home, which had been her original plan? Obviously, she hadn’t got far enough away from Alex’s reach.