Free West of Here by Jonathan Evison

with sweat, their nostrils huffing white plumes of protest against the cold air as they inched their way forward past the druggist’s. A huge length of fresh timber carved a furrow of mud and manure in their wake. Two doors down, the postmaster flipped his shingle and locked his door for the lunch hour. Gertie knew his lunch would include a visit to the Belvedere, specifically a visit to Peaches, the new girl who had taken to whoring like she was born to it.
    Out of the dry goods doorway strode a strange haughty creature, a practically dressed women, very pregnant, who seemed to be in a hurry, trailing cornmeal from a ruptured sack.
    “Looks as though you’re leakin’, ma’am,” said Gertie.
    “Pardon me?”
    “Looks like your sack went and sprung a leak. There, near the bottom.”
    When the woman still failed to react to this information, Gertie wrested the bag from a startled Eva, turning it over on end, and handed it back with the breach on top, at which point Eva finally grasped the situation.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “Which way you headed?” said Gertie.
    “I’m quite all right,” insisted Eva.
    “I can see that. I only asked which way you’re headed.”
    “Toward the commonwealth.”
    “Mind if I join you halfway?”
    “I suppose not,” said Eva. In fact, Eva was pleased to be distracted from the knowledge that she’d secretly come to town not for cornmeal but with hopes of seeing James Mather before the expedition set out.
    “So,” said Gertie. “You folks really a bunch of crackpots over there?”
    “Is that what you think?”
    “I don’t think either way. But that’s what I hear. Whole town says as much.”
    “Tell me, Miss … ?”
    “Gertie McGrew.”
    “Tell me then, Miss McGrew. Am I a crackpot to believe in my own dignity?”
    “Some might say. In my trade, anyway.”
    “Am I mad to believe that every American ought to have the opportunity of liberty and the pursuit of happiness? That the wealth of this young country should be dispersed somewhat evenly without regard to birth or entitlement or sex? Am I mad to believe that a woman can do anything a man can do?”
    “I’d say you’re mad on that count, most definitely.”
    “Hmph,” said Eva. “Spoken like a woman who makes a living debasing herself.”
    “Well now, I may be debased, but don’t get the idea for one minute that I’m doing it to myself, your highness. And as for a woman being able to do anything a man can do, I’ll just say I haven’t met a woman yet who could live three weeks without bathin’ herself. And I haven’t found one yet that delights in killin’ small things like a man does.”
    “I suppose there’s some truth to that.” Eva stopped and offered a handshake. “I’m Eva Lambert. Pleased to meet you, Gertie.”
    “Likewise, Miss Lambert.”
    “Do call me Eva. Won’t you join me for a tour of the colony?”
    “I’m afraid Hogback is as far as I go, Miss Lambert. I’m due to be debased again any minute now.”
    “You treat it as though it were your calling.”
    “Maybe that’s why I’m good at it.” It occurred to Gertie that Eva would probably make a hell of a whore, too, if she’d ever let her hair down and put all that willfulness to some use. “Well, then, I best be getting along.”
    “If you should ever change your mind and find yourself in the commonwealth,” said Eva. “Mine is the door with the wreath.”
    “I’ll certainly keep it in mind, Miss Lambert.”
    “Eva.”
    Gertie turned, lifted the hem of her dress, and took three steps toward the Belvedere before Eva beckoned her once more.
    “There’s always room at the commonwealth, Gertie.”
    Gertie thought about telling her that there was always room at the whorehouse but checked herself. “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Lambert.”

labor
     
    JANUARY 1890
     
    Long before
Old Anderson
came huffing and puffing around the spit into Port Bonita, Jacob Lambert had surrendered his steak and egg breakfast to