Chapter 11

The bedroom at the end of the hall looked like a staging area for a theater production of Little Women or Gone With The Wind. Modified from a bedroom, there were clothing racks anchored to the walls for hanging dresses, petticoats, and other garments that looked like capes and coats. There were three tall dressers with small mirrors attached to the top and silk-covered boxes that might be jewelry boxes. Anya let her eyes roam across the items on display. Violet had said Aunt Jean was in charge of the church charity collection, but she never expected all this.

Aunt Jean looked the girls over and moved to specific drawers in specific dressers. Did she have it organized by size and shape? Apparently so. She pulled out undergarments and handed them in neatly folded piles to the ladies. They accepted the odd items and waited. Anya knew, like herself, they weren’t sure what to do except Chris, of course. She gingerly lifted the delicate cotton pieces and smiled. “These are beautiful.”

The awe in her voice was not missed by the others. They rather gaped at her, and then it was Aunt Jean who took charge. “Ladies,” she spoke gently, softly. “I understand you have been through a terrible ordeal, one no lady should experience. But it happens,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I promise you will get past this.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t joy in her face. More like ... understanding. Had she been violated in her past? Anya looked at her friends. My goodness, had most women of this time period been molested? What kind of horrible, savage place was this era?

“We are grateful for your help,” Anya said at last.

Jean smiled as tears filled her eyes. “It’s the Lord’s work, not mine. I just happen to have a spare room to store the donations. The ladies’ auxiliary gets together twice a week to sew the small clothes and Mrs. Dean, our seamstress, brings materials to make adequate corsets. It’s nothing like the lovely undergarments from New York, but it will certainly do for those in desperate need for proper clothing.”

She wiped her eyes and gestured for the ladies to take off the borrowed clothes and don the gifted ones. Anya recognized the landlady’s subtle assessment as the girls began to peel out of the men’s clothes. Violet had mentioned Jean had nursing knowledge and could take care of their other needs, referring to the fib about being violated.

Another pang of guilt seared Anya’s heart. She nearly opened her mouth to say they were alright, but Jean continued in a tone to distract them, as her eyes checked for any obvious bruising or lacerations on the girls’ bodies as they disrobed and figured out how to get into the bloomers, chamises, and corsets. Thank goodness Chris was able to silently guide the girls into their unfamiliar underthings.

“Being mostly a trade and transient town, we noticed a need for women who had little more than the clothes on their backs, trailing after their men who are seeking fortune in mining claims. We’ve gathered a good deal from the wealthier travelers and what Mrs. Dean could spare from her end-of-bolt pieces that could be put together for day dresses.”

Not being genteel women in their own right, Anya and her girlfriends bore some bruises and scratches which were unrelated to being attacked but substantiated their claim through Jean’s misinterpretation of their condition. Relief washed over Anya when Jean allowed them to continue dressing without asking for a gynecological examination.

Perhaps in 1883, such a thing was considered inappropriate. With a nod of acceptance, Anya also donned her new clothes and accepted the day dress handed to her. It was made from a cotton print of blue flowers on a green background. It was not anything she would have ever chosen for herself. It looked more like something that should hang in a kitchen window, but at least it wasn’t as hideous as the thing Chris had chosen.