Gertrude straightened the faded coverlet on her bed and glanced around the shabby, little room. Everything seemed to be in order, she noted with satisfaction. Tidying up was one of the small rituals she practiced each morning. It gave some meaning to a life she had very little control over. Gertrude was the oldest working girl at Twyla's. Her knee creaked when she went upstairs, and her hair had flecks of gray. But she figured she still had a few good years left in her.
Gertie put up with a steady stream of grimy, drunken cowboys night after night, and she never complained. But her heart really beat for one of her regulars, Fergus. M. Quigley, a traveling salesman who circumnavigated the territory peddling his wares from the back of a wagon. Fergus always managed to bring something special for Gertie -- perfume, a comb for her hair, or some other pretty bauble. Gertie never knew when he might show up in Curtis Wells, but he never failed to come and see her when he did. Secretly, she hoped Fergus would pop the question one day and take her away from all this, but year after year things continued on the same. She wasn't getting any younger, and she knew it. Her girlish charms were waning along with her girlish figure. Gertie harbored no illusions -- soon it would be too late! If Fergus wouldn't marry her, who would? She had her cap set for him and no mistake.
Gertie sank down in a chair by the window. It was a fine spring day, the kind of day when every girl's heart turns to romance. As she sat looking out past the freight office, her gaze came to rest on the Curtis Wells church. She let her mind wander, dreaming of weddings, and floaty dresses, and pretty flowers. Gertie had been planning her wedding for years. She had all the details ironed out. She wanted a lovely lavender dress and daisies, a whole roomful of daisies. And Fergus waiting at the end of the aisle . . .
"Gertie, you in there?" Her reverie was interrupted by Stella who wanted help with the laundry. Gertie sighed and put her dreams aside for another day.
The next week was a busy one. Twyla insisted on a thorough spring-cleaning, and Gertie gladly did her part. The weather had turned cool and wet again, and Gertie didn't mind being inside as she had caught her annual spring cold. She spent her spare moments sniffling over romance novels and thinking about Fergus.
One evening just before the sun set, sliding slowly down behind the shabby walls of town, Gertie found herself loitering at her window again. Summer was fast approaching, and it was a balmy evening, the soft breezes perfumed by the crabapple out back of the saloon. Gertie had often wondered how it came to be planted there. She wished she could see it from her window as she imagined its soft pink petals fluttering silently down and covering the ground below its lovely branches. She sighed as she gazed down at a young couple strolling hand-in-hand on the boardwalk, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears.
Suddenly, she sat bolt upright and gripped the windowsill. Could that be Fergus' wagon heading her way? She watched as it turned and started down the main street of town. The mules struggled in the mud, the wheels bogged to the axles. The wagon stopped outside Twyla's, and Fergus, himself hopped down. He straightened his vest and glanced up at Gertie's window.
Gertie stepped back quickly; it wouldn't do for Fergus to see her gaping at him. She turned to her looking glass. Peering at her reflection, she patted her hair into place and pinched her cheeks to bring some color to her pale face. Then she raced from the room. She thundered down the stairs, nearly knocking over Ruby, who was bringing up a basket of laundry. The basket flew from Ruby's hands, and undergarments rained down on the steps.
"Where's the fire, Gertie?"
But Gertie scarcely heard her as she came to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. She put her hand over her wildly beating heart and tried to compose herself. It wouldn't do to seem too eager. In fact, what was she doing down here at all? She should have waited upstairs till she was summoned. She turned to go back to her room, but it was too late. Fergus was already inside, hat in hand, and she turned to meet his smiling face. Fergus held out a drooping bunch of wildflowers, and Gertie blushed and accepted them from his outstretched hand. Then she led him upstairs.
If Gertie was expecting anything new from Fergus that night, she was doomed to disappointment. And his next few visits were equally uneventful. Was Fergus growing tired of her she wondered? Why, she even came downstairs one evening and caught him flirting with Goldie right there in Twyla's parlor! True, he didn't act guilty when she appeared. He came upstairs as usual. But still Gertie wondered.
Sleep eluded Gertie one night as she struggled with her problem. She just had to find a way to make Fergus sit up and take notice. When daylight dawned, so did Gertie's plan. She put on her best dress and bonnet and set out to take matters into her own hands.
Timing was everything. Standing in front of Twyla's, Gertie saw Fergus emerge from the hotel and head towards the livery to hitch up his wagon for the day's rounds. It was now or never. She heard a whistling coming her way, and suddenly, Deputy Ike appeared around the corner of the building. Quickly, Gertie composed herself before sidling up to the Deputy and taking his arm. It was terribly bold of her she knew, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, Deputy Ike and Gertie had transacted a little business together in the past. They were hardly strangers.
"And how are you this fine morning, Deputy?" Gertie asked, coyly fluttering her lashes at him.
Deputy Ike smiled at Gertie. "Fine."
"Where are you headed at this hour?" she asked him.
"Why, to work, of course. You don't think I'd be up this early for fun, do you?"
But Gertie scarcely heard him. Fergus' wagon was coming into view! Gertie clung to Ike's arm and smiled up into his face. "That's nice," she said. "Would you permit me to tag along with you?" She could see out of the corner of her eye that Fergus' wagon was abreast of them now.
"I don't see why not." Ike patted Gertie's hand, and they continued down the boardwalk together, Gertie smiling and chatting happily all the way.
The wagon turned the corner and was lost to view. Only then did Gertie let go of Ike's arm. "I must get back," she informed him. Puzzled, Ike watched Gertie cross the street, holding her dress clear of the mud.
After that, Gertie didn't miss a chance to have Fergus see her with Ike. Each morning she lay in wait for him and walked with him a ways, only to turn around as soon as Fergus' wagon was out of sight. When Fergus returned at precisely five o'clock each evening, he was likely to see Gertie in the Deputy's company again. Sometimes she would wave at him, always turning her attention back to Ike again shortly. After a time Fergus concluded that Ike must be one brilliant conversationalist.
Fergus stopped coming to see her in the evenings. This worried Gertie a bit -- what if he left town without declaring his love for her? But she was sure she was doing the right thing. It was her only hope, and she'd come too far to turn back now.
One afternoon Miss Twyla asked Gertie to send a wire to Denver for her. The whorehouse was doing very well, and Twyla was advertising for some new girls to take the places of Sally and Marie, who had left last month. Gertie headed down the boardwalk, determined to finish her errand and then stop by Mr. Creel's General Merchandise Store to pick up some ribbon. Ruby was doing her hair in a particularly handsome new style, and Gertie was anxious to try it with her own locks. She figured she had just about enough time to accomplish the transformation before Fergus was due back in town. She wanted to look especially ravishing this evening. Perhaps then he would come by to see her.
Gertie's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a team and wagon struggling down the muddy street toward her. Glancing over her shoulder, she stopped stock-still, her jaw dropping almost into her shoes. She couldn't believe her eyes! It was Fergus! What was he doing in town in the middle of the afternoon? Didn't he have rounds to keep? And who was that seated next to him? Why, it was none other than Goldie! The pert blonde had her hand possessively on Fergus' arm as she giggled at something he was saying to her.
As the wagon drew closer, the pair recognized Gertie and waved -- both of them! And that's when something snapped. Hitching up her skirts, Gertie stepped off the boardwalk into the street, advancing on them like an angry thundercloud. She would just see about this! Fergus was her man, and that little tart was not taking him away from her!
But there was one minor detail Gertie hadn't taken into account, and that was the mud. With every step it sucked at her boots, and just as she reached the wagon, she lost her balance. Waving her arms wildly about, Gertie struggled to stay on her feet. But the mud was the victor, and with a resounding splat, she fell flat on her face in it. Fergus' team reared, and their hooves crashed down, narrowly missing Gertie's prostrate form. Fergus leaped from the wagon and grabbing their reins, subdued the startled pair. He knelt in the mud beside Gertie.
"Gertie, Gertie, are you all right?" he asked, turning her over. He grabbed her hand and patted it.
Gertie sat up, wiping the mud out of her eyes.
By this time a small crowd had gathered around. Deputy Ike appeared and pushed his way through. Fergus helped Gertie to her feet. Then he extended his muddy hand to Ike.
"Congratulations, Deputy, Gertie here's a fine girl. I know the two of you will be very happy together."
Ike looked at his hand in disgust and wiped it on his pant leg.
Gertie finally found her voice. "Fergus, you ninny, whatever are you babbling about?"
"You know perfectly well, Gertie--you and the Deputy here. I've seen how you been carryin' on together."
Gertie glanced at Ike. "Oh, him; I was just using him to try and make you jealous."
Ike's eyebrows shot up.
"Anyway, what about you and Goldie?"
"Yes, Fergus, what about me?" Goldie called down plaintively from the wagon.
Fergus ignored her. "I was just passing the time with her," he said to Gertie. "I thought you were going to marry Ike."
Goldie placed her hand on her hips. "Well, I like that!" She turned her gaze on Ike and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh, Deputy . . . Come and assist a lady down off this contraption, hmmm?"
Ike sidled over to where Goldie was perched on the wagon and helped her descend. Fergus and Gertie watched as the two of them headed off down the boardwalk without a backward glance.
"I don't want to marry Ike, Fergus," Gertie told him gently as she took his hand in hers. "Don't you know it's you that I love? There's never been anyone but you."
Light slowly dawned in Fergus' eyes as he dropped to his knees, and tears of joy streamed down Gertie's muddy face when he proposed to her right there in the street.
~~~
Gertie's wedding took place a week later. She wore a lovely lavender dress, and there were daisies, a whole roomful of daisies. And Fergus was waiting at the end of the aisle.
The End
6/2002
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this light-hearted look at the oldest profession. In reality, of course, it was anything but. Recommended reading: Soiled Doves: Prostitution in the Early West by Anne Seagraves.
