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September 25, 1879
Bertha pulled the pins from her dark hair, tossed them on her dresser, and yanked a brush through the tresses making sure to do one hundred strokes. The past few weeks had been terrible. No amount of acting properly, holding her tongue, or pretending to be pleasant to everyone made people like her. After the first few attempts at being nice, she gave up and kept to the house. There’d been enough food, so she didn’t have to go into town. When she needed something, she called Hayes’ store and had it delivered. Traversing through muddy streets, around dirty, smelly men, and putting up with their catcalls and ladies ignoring her was not her idea of fun.
As far as she knew, people thought she’d left town. When she’d paid for the clothes Julia Lindstrom was refitting for her, she’d made sure to mention several times how she was going back East. Not that the woman seemed to care. For a simple seamstress, she’d been a snooty thing. Daniel had probably informed her about her comments about her sister and King Winson. She had gone to Lead hoping to find work, but the town was every bit as bad as Deadwood and, after two days, she’d come back to the house.
At least she’d met the requirement for a divorce. Now all she had to do was get up the courage to once again visit Daniel at his office. She doubted he’d be as kind to her as he had before she made her comments about his friend and the schoolteacher.
After reaching the required number of brushes through her hair, she dropped the brush on the dresser, tugged her dress up over her hips, and pulled a flannel nightgown over her head. Since she didn’t leave the house and there was no one to see her, she’d forgone her corset the past few weeks. Just the thought of having to squeeze herself into one of them made her chest and stomach clench. One day she’d have to don the blasted thing; for now, even though it made her clothes tighter, she’d enjoy the freedom.
As she had in the past while waiting for James to come to her, she climbed into bed, lay flat on her back, and tucked the blankets to her chin. As it had been since James was arrested and she fired Moira, except the nightly creaks and groans, the house was absolutely silent. As with every night, her mind wouldn’t shut down, going over and over on the past twenty years and what to do about her future. She finally rolled to her side and curled into a ball, letting her nightly tears slide to her pillow. Counting backward from one hundred, she relaxed and let sleep take over.
“Stop. You’re hurting me.” She tried to get away as James pulled her toward the fireplace.
“You’re going to learn to obey me, woman.” He picked up a poker and raised it in the air.
The hem of Bertha’s skirt hit the edge of the blaze and caught fire. She ran. “Fire. Fire.”
Bertha jerked awake. Had she been dreaming or was someone really yelling ‘fire’? She sat up, swung her legs to the floor, raced to the window, and pulled back the curtain. An orange glow filled the room. Flames were covering the town and heading her way. People were screaming and racing for the hills above the town. Smoke seeped into the cracks in the window.
Her heart jumped into her throat. The town was burning. The smoke grew thicker. What should she do? There was no one to help her, and besides, no one knew she was still in town. She coughed and held the collar of her nightgown to her nose. If she stayed in the house, death would surely be the result. She grabbed her robe and tossed it over her shoulders. Racing down the stairs, it dawned on her that if she were to perish in the fire, no one would even know or care.
Self-preservation made her continue. She removed the chair from beneath the backdoor handle and rushed outside where the smoke was even worse. Like the roar of a train engine from back home, the fire ate up everything in its path as it came her way. Her only option was to head up the hill.
Twenty, or even ten, years ago the trek up the hill would have been nothing. But now, she huffed and gasped as she dug her fingers into the ground to leverage herself upward. It seemed she’d take three steps up and slide down one. A man ran past her, nearly sending her back to the bottom. He swore at her as if it were her fault. She swore back. Mamaw would have washed her mouth out with soap.
By the time she made it to the top, she was covered in soot and dirt and could barely breathe through the smoke billowing up the hill. People gathered in groups, holding each other, some crying, some staring in disbelief. She sank to the ground and pulled her robe over her head to protect it from sparks flying toward them.
“There goes Swearingen’s place,” someone yelled.
“Good riddance,” another person responded.
“King’s place just went up in flames.”
“All the banks are gone.”
The flames roared as they devoured building after building. How could anyone have survived? What about James in the jail? She bit her fist as flames danced and licked at the roof of her house. In a matter of minutes nothing was left but a pile of smoldering rubble. What in the good Lord’s name was she going to do?
After a nearly four hours, the fire finally stopped destroying buildings and the smoke cleared. As dawn arrived, the full extent of the damage became clear. Where was the town? Had anyone died? What was Deadwood going to do? A few places outside of town still stood. The schoolhouse and the schoolmarm’s small house were untouched. Buildings on the other side of Sherman Street were unscathed.
“What’ll we do?” a woman cried out.
“We’ll rebuild, that’s what we’ll do.”
King rushed past her, probably going to check on the schoolteacher. He didn’t see her, and she didn’t call out. A few more hours passed. Her stomach growled. A couple of men ventured down the hill. Bertha didn’t move, couldn’t move. It was as if all her energy had been destroyed by the fire. With only the clothes on her back, today she was no better shape than anyone else in town.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when a man, his face blackened with soot, squatted before her.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
She managed a small smile. “As much as anyone else here.” She swept her hand toward the empty spot where her house had stood.
“Several wagonloads of supplies have arrived from Lead and other towns. Was your house burned?”
She nodded.
“Well, there are tents going up by the schoolhouse for anyone with no place to go. I understand the schoolteacher and her sister are helping with food.” He put out a hand. “Let me help you up. If you cross the top of the hill, you can head down to the school.”
Doing what the man suggested, before making the trek downhill, she prayed she wouldn’t slip and take out the other people heading in the same direction. Several white tents were already up with several more folded on the ground. Hopefully, there would be a place for her.
The sky behind her rumbled. Dark clouds swept toward the town. There had better be a tent for her when she got down there.
Huffing, she stopped to catch her breath. Someone placed a quilt over her shoulders. She eased her aching body onto a tree stump. Men and women scurried around, putting up tents, tossing in what few belongings they had. Several women who she recognized as those who catered to men’s needs held tent poles. Why were they being helped before her? Rage built in her chest. How dare they? The haughtiness that helped her get things done over the years spewed from her mouth. She stomped to Daniel.
“I insist you help me before those . . . those heathens.” She raised her chin.
“I’m telling you, Mrs. Woods, we’re getting tents up as fast as we can.” Daniel held a tent pole in his hand. “These ladies asked for help first.”
“Ladies my backside. They’re no ladies.” She pointed a finger at Hattie and her girls. “They’re, they’re . . . a blight to polite society and shouldn’t be seen with the rest of us.”
Daniel set down the pole and stood nose to nose with her. “Back off. These blights on society, as you call them, have been helping other people. Tending to the sick. Making fires. They also gave up their blankets for people.” He flicked a hand at the quilt around Mrs. Woods shoulders. “Where do you think this came from? I don’t see you giving it away to help the children.” He pointed a finger into her nose. “And they did it all before taking care of themselves. All I’ve seen you do is sit on your fat ass and make demands. Well, lady, you’re on your own.”
“But . . . but . . .” She flinched as a roll of thunder crossed the sky. “It’s going to rain.”
Daniel turned his back on her and picked up the pole. “Well, unless you get your tent up, you’re going to get wet. I don’t know what you’re doing back in town, anyway.”
Mrs. Woods puffed out her chest. “I came back to gather the rest of my belongings, which,” she dabbed a handkerchief at her eyes, “are all gone. I have nothing left.”
“Hell, Mrs. Woods,” Daniel gripped the pole until his knuckles were white. “Neither does anyone else. You know what I have left?” She shook her head. “This.” Daniel swept a hand down his body. “The damn clothes on my back. Just like her, her, her, and her.” He pointed to the painted women. “Yet, they’ve managed to not sit around expecting to be waited on. They chose to take care of others. C’mon, ladies, let’s get this tent up before we get soaked.”
Should she be angry at the way he talked to her or dismayed. She probably deserved his words. She picked up a corner of a tent laying at her feet then let it go. There was no way she’d be able to put it up by herself. A fat, heavy drop of rain hit her face. Everyone ignored her as they rushed to get the last of the tents up, yet all she could do was sit and sob into her hands.
“You’re welcome to stay with us tonight.”
“What?” Bertha glanced up at a woman she’d figured out was a madam. Had she known her husband? She didn’t want to think about it. “You’re asking me to stay with you after what I said?”
“Right now, it doesn’t matter who you are, what you do, or where you came from. We’re all in the same predicament. Come, join us.” She held out a hand. “My name is Hattie.”
In that moment something happened to her heart, like a small piece of nastiness chipped away and melted into the ground. She stood and smiled. “All right.” She handed Hattie the quilt. “I believe this is yours.”
Hattie handed it back. “We can share.”