If These Walls Could Talk, What Stories Would They Tell?

[Dusty Fae]

Dusty watched the dust roll out from under the depot, the sound of the train rolling along. She stepped into the crowd of people, her bag in hand, the strings of her bonnet flying out as she walked. Her lavender calico dress was simple, but the height of fashion. Her momma hadn’t done much in the way of trim, but simple had always been more Dusty’s style anyway.

Dusty’s heart was pounding in her chest. It felt like so long since she’d been back. She looked up at the cloudless sky, her eyes tracking the sun. The heat of the day didn’t seem to be quite at its full intensity yet, but it would be soon. She crossed into the street and up onto the boardwalk, her carpet bag in hand with her few possessions. People were hustling and bustling about and Dusty was on her guard as she made her way to the hotel, nodding politely at passer’s by. A wagon passed on the street, a family making their way into town. The children peered around, eyes wide with wonder. Dusty smiled at them. She figured they must have a homestead and not get into town much.

Stepping into the shadow of the hotel felt cool and even cooler once she stepped across the threshold. She stepped up to the desk, a bit timidly. The last time she had been here, she’d had her momma and now she was on her own. She was truly a young lady now.

The man at the desk looked up and gave her a slight smile. “ How can I help you, Miss?” he asked, putting down the pencil he was holding in his ledger book.

“When is the next stagecoach to Los Avalos?” she asked, moving to hold her bag with both hands in front of her.

The man looked concerned. “No stagecoach, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Didn’t you hear, Miss? There’s typhoid fever there.”

Dusty nodded as her heart raced. “Yes, sir, I know it, but I’ve gotta get home to my momma there.”

The man frowned. “You don’t want to risk your own health, Miss.”

“She’s all I got, I’m afraid,” Dusty replied. “I guess I’d best be on my way then. Thank you.” She turned away and made to step back out onto the boardwalk.

“I can get you a room here until someone can come and fetch you,” the man offered.

Dusty turned. “Thank you, but I plan on being in Los Avalos before nightfall, one way or another.” Then she turned and stepped back on the boardwalk, making her way down the pathway. She had sent a telegram that she would be there today and she was gonna stick by her word if she had to walk there. She didn’t reckon she could afford to borrow a horse. Dusty slowed as she walked. She couldn’t ride a horse. She’d never been taught. There had to be another option.

[Dusty Fae]

The wagon hadn’t even stopped yet, when the cry went up. “Dusty!” voices called from the Saloon. Violet, Daisy and Anne rushed out to meet her. Dusty waited for the wagon to come to a full stop before she lifted her skirts and let her friends help her down. And then she was engulfed in arms and hair, the smell of booze and men and sweat. Dusty squeezed the girl’s tightly, each in her own turn.

“How’s Momma?” She pulled away from the girls at last. Their arms had provided a touch of comfort at last.

Anne, a young black woman a year younger than Dusty turned back towards the Saloon, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked up. Violet gave Dusty’s hand a gentle squeeze and Daisy avoided her gaze.

Dusty turned to look up at the Saloon, following Anne’s gaze. The Madame, Bridget, stood on the boardwalk just outside of the swinging doors. Her long red hair was braided over her shoulder and she had stripped down to a long petticoat over her corset. It wasn’t an unusual look for the fiery Irish woman. She often wore the bare minimum, but it was her hard earned right as the madame. “Come in, Dusty,” she said, the sound of Ireland in her voice. “Yer ma’s waiting.”

Dusty stepped up onto the boardwalk and towards the Madame. She took the hand that was held out for her, giving it a quick squeeze. “How is she?”

The Madame returned the squeeze and then leaned in to give Dusty’s cheek a kiss. “Prepare yourself, girl,” she said gently. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

Dusty nodded and tried to swallow a lump in her throat. She knew that had to be the case. They wouldn’t have sent a telegram unless things were real bad. “When-” she broke off when she all but choked on the words. “When did Momma get it?”

The Madame sighed, a soft but tired sound. She shook her head. “5 days ago. We wanted to send for you right away, but she told us not to.” The Madame looked at Dusty, good and hard. “We’re hopin’ she’ll pull through but things have been touch and go since yesterday. She comes in and out of lucidity. And then she asked for you.”

Dusty nodded. It was hard to hear that her momma had been so sick without Dusty by her side. It didn’t surprise her. Her momma wanted what was best for her. She wouldn’t have wanted to interrupt her studies. “I understand,” she replied.

The Madame swept one of the swinging doors open. “You know where you’re goin’.”



Dusty walked through the Saloon and through to the back room. It smelled rank, like sweat and death and something else, all layered one on top of the other. There were beds and a couple of pallets on the floor. She saw the bodies in them looking pale. Sweat lingered on foreheads. She knew one of the faces. One of the Saloon girls she’d met just before she’d gone away to school. She was hardly older than Dusty herself.

She had to keep going through the room and out the back door, stopping only when the hot oppressive dessert air thrust violently into her face. She stopped and breathed, tears making their way into the corners of her eyes. This was why there wasn’t a stagecoach from Los Tinas. The folks in Los Tinas didn’t want to take any chances of getting the fever themselves. And if this was how the others were, Dusty dreaded seeing her momma.

The door opened and closed behind her. “Are yeh alright?” the madame asked, her voice gentle.

Dusty turned and looked up at the woman who had cared for Dusty when she’d been small and needed looking after. “Bridg, is Momma gonna die?” she asked, the question swelling up her throat with tears she couldn’t cry.

Bridget hadn’t been the Madame when Dusty had been small. She’d just been another of the girls. “Not today.” She reached out and gripped Dusty’s shoulders firmly. “And you can hold me to that. Now, put on a brave face and march.”

Dusty nodded, her resolve growing. Bridget had always been one of the girl’s she’d been closest with when she was small. Bridget was tough but kind. She always had been. Dusty knew that she could borrow Bridget’s strength for the time being. Dusty squared her shoulders and turned towards the little house she had always called home.