A Pansy for Eleanor, part 6

Thistle Creek, Colorado

December 1876

The train pulled into the small station with a hiss of steam and the groan of iron wheels against the track. Eleanor Ashcombe peered out the window, her breath fogging against the glass. Snow lay thick on the ground and the rooftops of the wooden buildings lining the street beyond the depot, and the crisp mountain air held the scent of pine and chimney smoke.

Henry stepped off first, turning to offer Eleanor his hand. She took it, her gloved fingers curling around his as she descended onto the wooden platform. A few other passengers disembarked, some greeted by waiting family, others vanishing into the quiet town.

Eleanor took in their new home, if one could call it that yet.

Thistle Creek was a frontier town, rougher than the bustling streets of Omaha or the grand society of London, but there was something steady about it. The storefronts bore signs of life, candles glowing in shop windows, smoke curling from chimneys, a group of men unloading barrels in front of a mercantile. It was not civilization as she had known it, but it was civilization nonetheless.

Henry adjusted the strap of his satchel, his sharp gaze scanning the street. “We’ll find Uncle George’s store first,” he murmured, “then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Eleanor nodded, letting him lead her down the main street, her boots clicking softly against the wooden planks of the walkway. At least it was cleared. The street looked like a muddy, slushy mess. She tried to ignore the curious glances from passersby, newcomers were surely noticed here.

As they walked, a particular building caught her attention. A grand two-story structure stood on the corner, painted a deep red, its windows adorned with lace curtains. A large wooden sign above the entrance read:

MADAME SUE’S PLACE

Laughter and the distant sound of a piano filtered from inside. A man in a heavy coat stumbled down the steps, grinning to himself before vanishing down the street.

Eleanor’s eyes widened slightly. “Is that—”

“A brothel,” Henry finished, his tone wry.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, and a woman stepped onto the porch. Eleanor assumed she was Madame Sue.

The woman was striking, with bright copper hair arranged in an elegant chignon, her curvaceous figure wrapped in a sapphire-blue gown that shimmered in the lamplight. She surveyed the street like a queen surveying her kingdom, one hand resting on the hip of her corseted waist, not even caring to wear a coat.

Her sharp eyes landed on Eleanor and Henry. A slow smile curved her painted lips.

“New in town?” she called, her voice rich with amusement.

Henry gave a slight nod. “Just arrived.”

Madame Sue tilted her head, considering them. “Well then, welcome to Thistle Creek.” Her gaze flicked over Eleanor with a knowing glint. “You just passing through, or planning to stay?”

Eleanor hesitated. Henry pulled her close and answered, “Staying. My uncle, George Montrose, has a place for me in his store.”

Madame Sue chuckled. “And what about your lady friend?” She eyed Eleanor again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke. Eleanor had never seen such a woman and couldn’t take her eyes off her.

“She’s to be my wife, and she’s not interested in a job, Madam.”

“No offense meant, my Lord and Lady,” she said with sarcasm, curtsying dramatically. With another sharp laugh, she turned on her heel, disappearing back into her establishment. The door swung shut behind her, but the sound of laughter and music continued.

Eleanor released a breath. “She seems formidable.”

Henry frowned. “From what Uncle George says, it’s necessary to be abrupt.”

Before she could offer a reply, the sound of boots against wood drew their attention.

Two women approached, moving with a confidence Eleanor had rarely seen in ladies back in England. Who were these American women?

One was tall, her auburn braid tumbling down her back, a long coat buttoned neatly over her trousers. The other was slighter, with blonde hair tucked beneath a wide-brimmed hat, a well-worn leather duster sweeping behind her.

They stopped a few paces away, eyeing Eleanor and Henry with open curiosity. The auburn-haired woman was the first to speak.

“You two don’t look like the usual folks we get off the train.”

Henry studied her in turn. “And you don’t look like the usual welcoming committee.”

The blonde-haired woman made some movements with her hands to her partner, and she asked,

“Do you have arrangements to stay?”

Eleanor found herself intrigued. “Who are you?”

“Fran and Izzy Sullivan,” the one speaking said, tipping her hat. She nodded to her companion. “That’s Izzy.”

Henry’s brow lifted. “Sullivan… as in the Sullivan Sisters?”

Izzy signed something, and Fran smirked. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Who were the Sullivan Sisters, and why did Henry know who they were?

Henry chuckled, shaking his head. “Just a man looking to start over.”

Fran’s gaze flicked to Eleanor. “And you?”

Eleanor squared her shoulders. “I’m to be his wife,” she echoed Henry’s earlier words.

Fran nodded, and for a moment, the two groups stood in silence, measuring each other. Then Izzy nodded as well, a spark of approval in her sharp eyes.

“Izzy says congratulations,” Fran said.

Eleanor was about to ask how she knew that, but Fran spoke again.

“Well, Thistle Creek isn’t always kind, but it’s home. So, welcome.”

“Thank you. We’re looking for George Montrose,” Henry said.

Izzy signed to Fran.

“Who’s he to you?” Fran asked, looking suspicious.

“He’s my uncle; we’re here to stay with him, and I’m to work in his store.”

“He didn’t meet you at the train?” Fran’s eyes narrowed even more.

Izzy pointed to Madame Sue’s, and Fran frowned. “If’ he’s not in his store, he’s probably with one of Sue’s girls.”

Eleanor took in a breath. Izzy’s eyebrows shot up, but she still didn’t speak. Eleanor thought she must be mute and wondered why.

“You’re going to have a lot more surprises, Ma’am, living here. I’m guessing England, based on your clothes? And you were a genteel lady?” Fran said with barely concealed sarcasm. Izzy gave Fran a frown, but she ignored it.

“Yes,” Eleanor said, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders. She wasn’t sure if she liked these “abrupt” women. She preferred not knowing certain things. Why would Henry’s uncle be in the brothel? She withheld a shudder.

“Are you sure he’s in there?” Henry asked, looking startled.

Izzy signed, and Fran said,

“Izzy saw him go in. He should be out any minute.” Fran looked at a pocket watch. “He’s never in there long.” She laughed, and Eleanor wished they could get away from them.

“Henry,” she said, touching his arm. “Perhaps we could go to his store and wait for him.”

“That’s a great idea, Ma’am. It’s just there.” Fran said and pointed down the street. “See you around.” She touched her hat, and Eleanor was disturbed at how much like a man this woman seemed. Izzy seemed kinder and smiled at her as they left. Eleanor returned it out of politeness, but the whole encounter with them and Madame Sue had her feeling concerned.  

They parted ways and found the mercantile. The door was locked, so they found a bench outside to wait, Henry dusting off the snow so they could sit.

For the first time, Eleanor was unsure if she was ready for this. Henry, too, was frowning, watching passersby who ignored them.

“Henry,” she began. He turned to her, seeing the doubt on her face.

“It will be all right, Eleanor. I promise.” He pulled her close, and she felt instantly safer and decided to trust him. “It’s just different out here. But we can make it home.”

As she leaned against him and watched a mother helping her little girl into a buggy, she felt something settle inside her, and her worries were tempered for a bit.

Home. Perhaps it could be.

Join me next week as Eleanor and Henry marry and settle into life in Thistle Creek.