Dixie turned over and fell off the sofa, landing with a thud onto the floor. Once she made sure her body and pride were intact, she heard snickering from across the room. Emily was sitting on the floor with her back against a chair and her knees close to her chest. One of Bindi’s journals was perched atop her kneecaps.
“Did you go to sleep?” Dixie glanced at her. It was just before five in the morning.
“I couldn’t fall asleep between the banging upstairs and you snoring. I just got up and started reading. Girl, you have to come over here and listen to some of this.” Emily held up the book as though Dixie couldn’t figure out what she’d meant.
“All right, but first I need caffeine. You want a soda or something from the kitchen?” Dixie was already headed in the other direction.
“Nah, I’m fine.” Emily buried her face back in the book.
“So what ya find?” Dixie returned to the parlor slurping from a frosty can.
“I think it’d be better if I read it.” Emily hadn’t shifted her focus from the journal.
“Go ahead, I’m all ears.” Dixie settled in by her.
“Okay. I’ll just start from the beginning of the entry.” Emily flipped back a few pages.
August 14, 1845
My name is Amelia Warren. I’m not sure why I feel compelled to write here in Bindi’s private diary. Maybe it’s because Bindi was… or is… such a lovely girl and her story deserves to be told.
The feeling of impending sorrow seized Dixie. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the rest. Given the fact that Bindi had lived over one hundred fifty years before, it was crazy how attached she felt to the girl. A shiver ran down her spine, and she yanked the blanket she’d slept under from the couch for comfort.
I want to start by saying Bindi is wonderful to everyone she meets. She will stop whatever she’s doing to help any of the girls, anytime. I’ve always felt sorry for her, because Holland is aggressive toward her, even more violent where she’s concerned than he is toward me and the others. Even so, she takes it all in stride and that’s why the twelve girls who live in this house are going to be devastated.
Bindi went missing three days ago, on the same day Holland killed himself in her bedroom. If you ask me, it was no coincidence.
Dixie gasped, causing Emily to pause. “Makes a lot of things clear now, doesn’t it?”
“He killed himself. Huh, no wonder he’s so angry. How do they know she didn’t kill him and split?” Dixie stood, moved back across the room, and then paced for a moment before she sat by Emily again feeling a bit spooked.
“Well she brings that up, too.” Emily patted Dixie’s leg and then continued.
The constable immediately blamed Bindi, as though she’d shot Holland and jumped out the window. Of course, even they had to admit it wasn’t possible. Holland had wedged the gun between his knee and his chest and the impact of the shot had left bruising on his body. I saw him lying in that room. It was sort of sad and pathetic, but to be honest, I’m not upset in the least by his departure.
Holland had a penchant for whiskey and younger girls, especially Bindi. He’d get drunk three or four nights a week and knock a couple of the girls around. When he was done, he’d head up to Bindi’s room.
That’s how things happened on the night he died. He’d been out drinking with the constable, Carl Richard. Millie, our house mother, said Carl was shaking Holland down for more money. It seems the police had decided to get more money from him, because The Holland House was the only Bordello allowed to operate off of Basin Street. Furthermore, even though Holland had been taking the majority of our money, he was broke.
He’d spent all his money on alcohol and gambling. The lawmen didn’t care to hear his sob story. We’d been watching Holland crumble for a while and the more desperate he became, the worse he treated Bindi.
My bedroom was the only other room in the attic space. Holland had partially walled in an area in the back of the room and added a door for privacy. There was no privacy, though. Bindi could hear most of what went on in my room, and I could hear almost all of their conversations.
That evening, Bindi was washing her clothes in a bucket of water in the small kitchen. Holland was loaded. I could hear it in the way his voice slurred and the way the door rebounded against the wall when he stumbled in.
“Pack your things,” he told her.
By now I was standing with my ear pressed to the wall. I had to be quiet because if he’d known I was there, he’d have dragged me out by my hair and had a go at me. I figured he was too drunk to know I was hiding. But I could hear heels hitting the floor. In my mind, I pictured him dragging Bindi’s tiny frame across the floor.
“I’m not going with you. You’ll have to kill me.” Bindi screamed loud enough for the rest of the girls to hear her.
Then something weird happened. Holland started crying. “You don’t understand. I don’t have the money to pay them off. They will send their men to kill me. Don’t you love me, Bindi?”
“No…I’ve never loved you, Holland. You know I don’t love you.” Her words were icy and sharp.
“But, I love you,” he sputtered.
Bindi was silent for a while and I wished I could see her. I was afraid she was dead. But then, as though she’d found a surplus of courage, she spoke again. “You don’t have the money because you’ve been drinking and gambling all day for years. I might be young Holland, but I’m not naïve.”
Dixie raised her hand for Emily to stop. “Wait. Just let me take this in for a second.”
“I know. It’s a lot to digest. Do you want me to quit reading?” Emily stood up and stretched.
“Do you hear that?” Dixie rose from the floor and gazed at the ceiling.
“He’s been up to his antics ever since I started reading the journal.” Emily tossed the book onto the sofa.
“There’s a doughnut shop on the corner. They should be open by now. Want to go get some coffee?” Dixie grabbed her jeans off the end of the sofa and slid them on.
“Yeah. I’ll finish the story when we get back.”
The girls exited through the courtyard, and Dixie could have sworn she saw someone move around the side of the building. She didn’t look though. There had been enough excitement already, and the day was still young.
The coffee had steam billowing from the lids. Dixie grabbed a couple of napkins so they could stand to hold onto their cups as they walked back to the apartment.
“So, Holland liked to beat on all the girls,” she said and then blew inside the slot on the top of her cup.
“We figured that though, right?” Emily took a sip of hers and then cussed under her breath.
“Yes, and I understand the cops weren’t getting paid, or at least not getting paid what they wanted. So they were coming down on him, but they were probably getting free services too. You’d think that would be enough.”
Emily offered her a smile, but it was her why-are-you-so-stupid-smile. “They could get those services at any bordello in town. He wasn’t the only one they were shaking down, you can bet on it.”
“So for them, it was all about the money. And they’d cover up whatever they had to, to make a point to the rest of the brothels.”
Emily nodded.