The Dove of Canyon City

Caitelynn

Canyon City, 1862

         The wide boardwalk that lines the dirt roads creeks under her shoes as she encounters a loose board. Years of walking the boardwalk helps her keep her balance on the uneven boards that make up the storefronts. The flickering lights from the store fronts and the oil lamps that line the boardwalk giving everything a warm yellow glow.

         The summer night is warm, the heat from the day lingering well after sunset. As she passes the entryways of the storefronts along the boardwalk she encounters a myriad of different sounds, everything from the quiet talking of couples in the cafe’s to the sound of riotous laughter and the excited chorus of voices from the numerous casinos that line both sides of the streets. This late in the night there are few people wandering the boardwalk, the family oriented people of Canyon City retreating indoors as the miners and night owls and minors with heavy pockets descend on the city. The casinos are packed as the workers gamble away their wages.

         The main road of Canyon City is bustling with riders still coming in from the mines as well as a few horse pulled carts moving down the street. A gentle breeze greets her as she passes the entrance to the Golden Lady, not the largest casino in the city but the most popular. The last stagecoach of the night roars past, the thunder of hooves temporarily drowning out the other sounds of the night life as it heads toward the Pony Express stop that doubles as the largest hotel in town.

         She steps briefly into the street to dodge past a group of miners, part of a larger crowd that had spilled out of the Golden Lady onto the boardwalk. A few send her cat calls but take it no further as she continues on without a response.

         The small cafe at the end of town behind her is owned by a motherly figure of a woman who is fiercely protective of her and her kind. A place where they could eat and converse in peace without having to worry about getting hounded by the men or abused by the more respectable women of the town who look down upon her and her companions for their profession.

         With a full stomach and several hours ahead of her on her one night off a week she heads home, turning left at the nearest side street. The street takes a sharp slope down, the side streets running up and down the slope of the mountain the town was built on. As soon as she leaves the main street the lights and the noise fade way into quiet darkness. She embraces the darkness, letting it surround and comfort her. Her pace slows, her mind not so focused on escaping the noise and close confines to the people who bring the city’s night to life as much as her mind focusing on enjoying the quiet night walking home. Her one night off a week where she can walk the streets on her own without having to think of work.

         Two blocks down from the main road she pauses, looking right and admiring the church that stands silent vigil. The tall white steeple dominates the landscape from every angle and is the most widely known of all the buildings in Canyon City. The brickwork that makes up the body of the church appears black in the night's darkness, even though she knows it to be a beautiful and rich reddish brown color.

         Shaking herself she turns left, heading down a darkened side street. There are a few men walking the streets here, most heading back up to the main road. She gets a few inquiring glances but nothing more as she heads to the far end of the street. Both sides of the street are lined with small, one room shanty’s, small silhouettes huddled in the darkness. The shanty’s closest to the main road are all dark, belonging to the miners and their families who didn’t contribute to the rampant night life. The far end  of the street has more lights, scattered about amongst the huddled forms. Odd rectangles of lights shine into the street, the open doors from the shanty’s an open invitation from the women who lurk within or recline in the doorways, silently advertizing the wares of the red light district. The soiled doves of  Canyon City lurk in the shadows, a coy smile or a soft call luring silver or gold filled pockets into their lust filled glances and passionate touches on Miners Row.

         A dove herself she calls out a few greetings to the women who are not occupied with work, a few calling back a cheerful greeting, a few others blatantly ignoring her. Not all the girls get along, a internal ranking among the doves strictly maintained by the higher earning doves. She herself makes enough to get by but has no where near the income of some of the other girls.

         Her shanty is toward the end,  a small one room just big enough for a bed and a few small pieces of furniture. A cracked mirror and wash basin is perched in a corner. At the door she retrieves the lantern and takes it inside with her, using the flame to light her candles. Soon her small room is alight with the flickering light of the candles. After blowing out the lantern and placing it back on its hook outside her door she pauses, staring into her room. The small room is alight with flickering candlelight, the ten candles she has scattered about her room her one luxury in her life.

         She hears footsteps behind her and glances back to see a exceptionally scruffy man with a glint in his eye and one hand in a pocket shuffle up to her. She hears a distinct jingle in his pocket as he stops beside her.

         “Hey darling. You working tonight?”

         “Sorry sweetie but I believe that Rennee Marie is more than willing to see to ya.” She says with a wink, nodding toward a petite brunette lounging suggestively in the doorway across the street. The man gives her a pat on the rear end before turning and heading to Rennee, the grateful brunette giving her a small wave as the man disappears inside her shanty. Rennee, a small French lass who arrived in Canyon City about the same time that she did is on the same rung of the food chain as she is, the two having grown close quickly. Though they have different nights off, when they do get the odd customer showing up on their night off, they direct them to the other girl.

         Before she is approached again she ducks into her room and shuts her door behind her. She sheds her clothes slowly, relishing the feel of taking her time and shedding her heavy outer gown, hanging it on a hook near her front door. She cracks her window open, letting in the cool night air before reaching under her bed, fetching her bottle of  whiskey from underneath her bed. Taking a shot straight from the bottle she collapses back onto her bed, the worn mattress creaking beneath her slim body. Staring up at the ceiling she watches as the flickering candlelight makes the cracks in the wood ceiling seem to dance and move overhead.

         Propping her head up on her thin pillow she lets out a content sigh as she takes another short pull of the whiskey, welcoming the familiar burn as it works its way to her stomach, sending a warmth through her tired limbs. One by one her candles go out until the one near her window is the only one still lit. She can hear the soft voices of people talking out in the street and the distant sounds of music from two streets up, the soft lullaby of Canyon City and the warmth of the whiskey spreading through her lulling her towards a dreamless sleep.