Page 13 of Native Hawk
Chapter 4
Twenty-seven dollars.
That was how much Catalina had made since she’d begun working at The Parlor.
On her hands and knees in the secondhand blue calico frock and apron she’d altered to fit, she scrubbed at a stain on the polished wood floor. In one corner, a fiddler sawed out merry songs. At the nearby tables, men played poker, cursing when they lost a bet, crowing when they won.
She’d learned to ignore the sight of half-naked women on the balcony and the catcalls and bad language from the men downstairs. She’d even learned to sleep with a pillow over her ears so she wouldn’t hear the sounds of fornication coming from the rooms next to hers.
And she’d prayed every night to receive absolution for frequenting abordello,reminding god that if he saw fit to gift her with a windfall of money, she would immediately give Miss Hattie her notice.
So far, he had not.
Catalina had fully intended to hold herself aloof from the fallen women who worked at The Parlor. To be a well-respected dressmaker, she couldn’t afford to be associated with what some referred to as soiled doves.
But she’d been unable to resist the friendly overtures from two of the nicer ladies, who considered themselves Catalina’s guardians.
Emily, whose grin could light up a room, had given her the dress. Anne, who always had a mischievous twinkle in her eye, made sure Catalina knew all the latest gossip.
In the end, she was grateful for their friendship. Some of the other ladies were not so welcoming. They saw Catalina as a threat and were openly hostile.
Sitting back on her heels, Catalina mopped her brow with the back of her forearm.
How the ladies could be worried about her stealing their “regulars,” she couldn’t imagine. Catalina had no interest in pursuing their line of work.
She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and resumed scrubbing the floor.
She still had moments when she doubted her decision to leave Italy and struggled with homesickness.
She missed her friends.
She missed her family.
She missed the way the sunlight fell across the Ferrara vineyards.
She missed the music of her language, the cold, velvety sweetness of gelato, the sight of starlings forming beautiful shapes against the azure sky.
She missed the taste of freshly dug truffles.
That was what she missed most—the truffles that grew in the woods around her home. She closed her eyes, imagining the musky, earthy flavor.
“Well, my word,” she suddenly heard from behind her. “I see you found yourself a position.”
She craned her head around. It was the obnoxious blond man from the dry goods store, the one she had slapped across the face.
“Looks like a real nice position.” His eyes slithered over every curve of her body. “Not so high-and-mighty now, are you, Missy?” he said with a sneer, reaching down to give her bottom a familiar pat.
Her blood boiled. But before she could heave the entire bucket full of soapy water over his thick head, Miss Hattie intervened.
“Why, Delbert Akins,” she said, sweeping up to take him by the arm, “we haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Howdy-do, Miss Hattie.”
“You know, Mary’s been pinin’ for you.”
“Is that a fact?” His eyes slid to Catalina. “Well, I might have somethin’ else in mind today.”
Miss Hattie blinked, feigning ignorance. “And what would that be?”
