Behind Closed Doors
The saloon building might be called The Palace, and it might house a handful of old queens, but it was about as far from royalty as a cow's backside.
This early in the morning, the saloon itself was empty, the doors closed (but not locked) and Anna took the chance to sweep the dirt back out into the dusty street, wipe down the tables and collect the scattering of abandoned mugs and glasses. When she had a trayful she took them back through the serving door to the kitchen and handed them over to the scullion for washing.
The kitchen was loud and busy, a sharp contrast to the bar. A cluster of dancers were breakfasting on coffee and biscuits around a table and exchanging gossip about last night's customers. The stoves were blazing, more biscuits coming out of the ovens and bread for the noon meal going in. Beans set to soak yesterday were being rinsed off and set to simmer, and new crocks of beans set to soak for tomorrow. A meat cleaver thwacked steadily, cutting thin slices off a side of bacon, ready for frying.
Anna set down her tray, and wove her way through the chaos to the back door with practiced ease, sidestepping the old folding chair that the one-legged head cook directed the kitchen from and ducking out into the yard just as the delivery cart arrived.
The cart driver was copper-haired Josie, broad as a barn door, twice as sturdy, and holder of Anna's heart. They never had time on working mornings like these for more than a smile and a quick greeting, but Anna liked to watch Josie's muscles flex as she swung the various sacks, bags, and barrels of food down from the cart. She also liked to think Josie got her own good view when it was Anna's turn to haul the goods inside.
Josie set the last bag of onions at Anna's feet and hopped back up into the cart. “Tonight,” she promised, and flicked the reins.
“Tonight,” Anna echoed in reply and farewell, and stooped back to her work.
