The Mail Order Midwife's Secret (Wanted: Wives In The West 2) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Millie had sent the letter to Pastor Littlejohn using her parents’ address for the return reply. She couldn’t have Henry finding the correspondence and discovering her plan to leave him.

“I’m leaving him, Mother,” she said. “Going somewhere far away. I need you to watch for a letter that will help me escape.” She knew her mother would help, because although she had resigned herself to a life of abuse, she never wanted that for her daughter.

Four weeks later, Millie’s answer came. It was the night her mother came over, feigning the excuse that she needed Millie’s help with a quilt she was working on. As soon as Henry left for the gambling halls, her mother filled her in. “The letter arrived, but we won’t get to read it,” she said. Millie’s heart raced as a panic flooded over her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I saved your railway ticket. I wanted to read it and destroy it so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught, but your father walked in when I had the letter in my hand and the ticket in the pocket of my dress. I didn’t know what to do, so I tossed it into the fire so he wouldn’t see it. I’m so sorry!”

Millie wasn’t angry at her mother. She knew what it felt like to walk on eggshells and carefully avoid beatings. “Do you have the ticket for me?” she asked. The panic changed to a feeling of excitement and hope, knowing there was a definite date she would be getting free from Henry once and for all. Her body was trembling, she was so happy.

“When I went to the General Store this morning, I left it at the depot with your name on it,” her mother explained. “They said they’d keep it for you until time to leave. But I memorized it. You leave in three days, Saturday morning - on the 8 a.m. train to Fort Worth. Millie, what’s in Fort Worth? It’s dangerous there!”

“No more dangerous than living here with Henry,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she realized she’d be leaving her mother behind, possibly for good. “It’s gotten worse.” She showed her mother the bruises around her neck and on her arms, where he’d restrained her. She was still healing from a cracked rib where he’d kicked her when she refused to take pay for a baby she’d helped birth who had been stillborn. She was trying to help the family in their time of grief, but it only led to her own moment of terror. “
He’ll kill me if I stay
,” she whispered to her mother, almost as if Henry would hear her if she said it out loud.

Millie’s mother hugged her, still unaware of the circumstances under which Millie would be heading to Fort Worth. “You’re right,” her mother said. “I just want you to get free. Here, I’ve saved up a bit over the years whenever I had leftover money in my budget,” she said as she stuffed a small roll of money into Millie’s hand. Millie tried to refuse, but her mother wouldn’t take no for an answer. “In case something goes wrong in Fort Worth and you need to move on. Come see me Saturday morning before you head to the train station. Your father will be away on business.”

The two women embraced—no longer just mother and daughter, but two prisoners in their own world of fear, resentment and abuse. Millie would look forward to the day her father passed away and her mother would be free to join her in Fort Worth, like two doves being released from captivity, free to soar as high as their wings would take them.

Friday night, Henry did what he always did—took Millie’s money—except the hidden stash her mother had given her—and headed to the gambling hall to get drunk and lose it all. Millie was going to use this time to pack a bag, hide it outside, and prepare to sneak out Saturday morning before he awoke from his drunken stupor. She couldn’t take much, but she figured with her mother’s gift, she could buy a few things when she arrived in Fort Worth.

Her whole life would be changed when she stepped onto the railcar and left Henry behind. She hurried around the room, looking in drawers and closets. Anytime she came across something from her wedding or marriage, she tossed it aside, happy to be leaving those memories behind. Millie packed her Bible, a few changes of clothes, and the money roll her mother gave her. She was about to stash it outside in the bushes when Henry slammed the door open. Millie quickly hid the bag in the closet and laid down in bed, pretending to be asleep so he would leave her alone.

He was supposed to be gone until the early morning hours, like he always was. Henry stumbled through the house, drunkenly knocking over everything in his path. He was mumbling to himself about being kicked out of the gambling hall and getting revenge on the person who said he was a cheater. Millie laid very still when Henry entered the bedroom.
“Please just pass out and leave me alone,”
she thought.

“Millie!” he slurred, kicking off his boots and throwing his hat on the floor. She was turned away from him, but she heard him climb into bed beside her. He scooted in close to her back, his whisky-soaked breath creeping like a dangerous fog over her neck and shoulder. “Millie, turn over.” She didn’t move. Henry didn’t care if she was asleep or awake, so he grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over. She closed her eyes and began praying, as she always did on nights like these, and allowed herself to get lost in the vision of what tomorrow would bring.

At seven o’clock in the morning, Millie, who hadn’t slept at all during the night, crept out of bed and got dressed. Henry usually slept hard after a night of drinking, but the closet door was creaky, so she would have to be careful or he would wake up and she wouldn’t be able to get away. After getting dressed, Millie stood over the bed looking at Henry. In her mind, she said all the things she wanted to say over the years.
I’m glad I’m leaving you.
What a horrible man you are. I can’t wait to get away and never see you again
. She tiptoed over to the closet and slowly turned the knob. The moment she tried pulling the door open, it creaked loudly, and Henry stirred, opening his eyes, mumbling, “I want hotcakes for breakfast when I get up.”

The minutes passed rapidly as she waited for him to fall back into a deep slumber, but each time she tried opening the door, it roused him. Millie looked out the window, guessing it was near eight o’clock. She couldn’t miss her train, so she let go of the doorknob and backed out of the room. The money and belongings weren’t worth her freedom. She would have to go without them. Making her way through the house, she took one last look at the house of horrors she had been a prisoner of and hurried down the road to the train station. Millie wouldn’t have time to say goodbye to her mother, but she would write her once she got settled.

“Do you have a ticket for Millie Wallace?” she asked at the window. The clerk handed her the ticket and she walked to the train, her body trembling with excitement, fear and nervousness.

“Your bag, Miss?” the porter asked. Millie shook her head
no
and stepped onto the train. She felt awkward without any belongings. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and the ticket in her hand. But at that moment, it felt like she had everything she needed—freedom. She didn’t know who she was meeting or what plans they had in store for her, but it didn’t matter. God had answered her prayer and she trusted in Him.

Chapter Five

Millie looked out the window at what would become her new home. She’d only heard a few stories about the frontier, and Ft. Worth in particular. It was supposedly filled with wild outlaws and equally wild Indians, but all she saw was a few railway hands and an older man looking at his pocket watch and woman standing there, waving away the flies. She assumed they were the ones she was there to meet, since no one else seemed to be waiting for an arriving passenger. Millie pulled her sleeve tight so that the bruise on her wrist was concealed. She did the same with the collar on her dress. With nothing to carry, she stepped out onto the platform and headed toward the couple to introduce herself.

Clara Springer spoke up first. “You must be Millie,” she said warmly, wrapping her arm around Millie’s shoulder and steering her toward their wagon. “I’m Clara and this is my husband, Doc Springer. We must hurry out of here, dear—the smell of those buffalo hides they’re transporting are going to be the death of me if I have to inhale one more breath!” Millie was relieved to have their names, but she knew nothing about them or the situation she would be living in.

“Forgot your bag,” Doc Springer said as he turned around to head back toward the platform.

“Oh … I don’t have one,” Millie said, shyly. She watched their faces to see their reaction. Clara and Doc glanced quickly at each other and then Clara broke out into a smile as she turned her eyes back toward Millie.

“Well, let’s get going, then!” Doc said, helping the women onto the wagon. The drive to their cabin was bumpy. A recent rain, followed by days of dry, hot sun had left the dirt roads a mess with deep divots to maneuver. When they arrived, Clara showed Millie to her room which was small, but cozy, her bed adorned with a beautiful white quilt with blue flowers embroidered on it. Millie sat down on the edge of the bed, letting it all sink in.

Clara had gone to get her a wash bin and towel for her room, and after returning and putting them down, Millie noticed Clara staring at her bruised wrist, where Henry had left his mark. She pulled her sleeve down to cover it, and the two women looked at each other. Without saying a word, Clara left the room. Millie shifted uncomfortably on the bed. There was nothing to unpack … no clothes to change into for bedtime. She was hungry, and hadn’t had much to eat since she left Kansas, except what a kindly gentleman had shared with her of his meals along the way, after noticing she had no money or belongings.

The door swung open and Clara’s hands were full of clothes. “I’m sorry your bag got misplaced,” she said, both women knowing it was a way to save Millie the embarrassment of having to explain why she had no belongings. “These are some of my Katie’s clothes,” she continued. “She moved up to Montana and had to leave these behind, but you look to be about her size so we’ll just let them be yours from now on.” She set them down on the bed and turned to leave. “I’ll go fix us a mess of peas and cornbread for supper. I hope you’re hungry!”

After she closed the door, Millie began looking through the clothes. As she held each one up, she pictured herself in her new life—no longer afraid, no longer having to cry herself to sleep each night. She washed up and went to the kitchen to help Clara with supper.  “Doc wanted you to get settled in for a night,” she told Millie. “He’s already on call, but he’ll need you on duty tomorrow night. The Acre is overflowing with the wounded right now with the trail at its peak season.” Millie assumed she’d be doing some sort of nursing, with her background, and it looked like she was right.

The two women sat down to eat              as Millie listened to Clara tell her all about Hell’s Half Acre. “We’d like to get rid of it,” Clara said, “but the money it brings in helps the town, so we can’t be hasty. Just too many drunk, boisterous cowboys and buffalo hunters with hot tempers, if you ask me. That’s why Doc’s out at all hours of the night, tending to the wounded.”  It wasn’t quite what Millie was used to, but she would take it. They sat up talking late into the night. Clara didn’t ask about Millie’s past, or why she had bruises on her wrists and neck, when her husband was supposedly deceased. The look between the two women made it clear that it would be an unspoken secret between them.

When she retired to her room, Millie snuggled under the quilt into the soft sheets and smiled, looking out her window at the beautiful, starry Texas sky. She was free. She wouldn’t have to worry about waking up to Henry crawling into her bed anymore. Once her bruises healed, she would never have to go to bed grimacing in pain. She wondered what he was doing now—how his face looked the moment it dawned on him that she wasn’t at a baby’s birth, but gone for good—gone from
him
. For the first time in years, since she no longer had to be on alert, Millie fell asleep instantly.

Chapter Six

Sheriff Lockhart rode home just as the sun was rising over the plains. It was these early morning hours, when the mischievous cowboys had finally gone home and the straight arrow citizens were still asleep, that he felt most at peace. He stopped his horse on a hilltop off the road and looked back toward the east. Texas was beautiful this time of year. The plains, normally blanketed with thick, green grass, were now covered in a mix of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes that blended with the majestic glow of the blue and red sky as the sun rose over the hillside.

Each morning, he took this time to remember the beauty of what life had to offer. He pictured his wife, Rose, her long, blonde hair waving in the wind as she walked hand-in-hand through the flowers with his sweet, blonde twin daughters, Grace and Anna—the spitting image of their mother. He could hear Grace call, “Daddy!” and picture her breaking loose from Rose’s grip to run toward him with a big smile on her face as she leaped into his arms.

As the sunrise vanished, so did the vision of his family, the sound of their laughter fading, until all he could hear was the humming of the cicadas. For a long time, John hadn’t been able to stop and think about his wife and daughters. It was too painful. But now, he felt it was honoring their memory when he took time out of his day to relive the past—only the good parts, because if he focused on what had happened to them, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull out of that dark place a second time.

After sleeping all day, John woke to the sound of someone banging on his door. “Hold your horses!” he yelled from his bedroom as he quickly got dressed and headed to the front. Standing on the porch was a thin young man, no more than twelve or thirteen years old. John recognized him as the bar help at the Emerald Saloon on Main Street. “What is it, Joseph?” the sheriff asked.

“Hank’s full as a tick again,” he said. “And it ain’t even nightfall yet! We’re wondering if you can stick him in the calaboose ‘till it wears off.” Hank “Six Shooter” Hensley was always getting drunk and stirring up trouble. But he usually liked to gamble with a clear head, giving Sheriff Lockhart a couple of hours before he had to tangle with him.

Normally, having one too many in the Acre wasn’t enough to get you locked up, but with Hank, whenever whisky was involved, so was his gun. The only reason he hadn’t been locked up for good was because he had plenty of money to grease the palms of those who ran the town. He owned quite a bit of land in the Acre, and during the daylight hours, was as fine an upstanding citizen as you could imagine. Come nightfall, his thirst for card games and alcohol turned him into a different kind of man, but his deep pockets helped all that trouble disappear.

“Keep him happy and I’ll be there shortly,” the sheriff replied. He closed the door and heard Joseph get on his horse and ride back into town. It was going to be another long night. The only thing John looked forward to was church tomorrow. It was the first time he’d be meeting Millie, the woman in the photograph that Pastor Littlejohn and Mabel had shown him. John wasn’t nervous or hesitant about the possibility of falling in love again. He was
ready
—and he knew Rose would have wanted him to be happy, too.

When the sheriff showed up in town, Marshal Roy Jennings was holed up inside the Emerald Saloon, where Hank had chased him down the street for fun by shooting at his feet. He’d made the unfortunate mistake of trying to get Hank to go home and sleep it off. Jennings wasn’t respected in Hell’s Half Acre. He routinely had to run from cowboys who tried roping him like a calf when he interfered in their activities. Sometimes they even caught him—and they’d all laugh as he laid there in the middle of Main Street with his feet tied to his hands, until Lockhart got there to release him.

The sheriff needed sleep, so Jennings usually handled the day shift, since it was somewhat quieter. That was the time of day the marshal would go through the streets, cleaning up the mess made by the drinkers and gamblers the night before. “I’ve had it!” Jennings yelled when the sheriff walked through the swinging doors. “He’s out to kill me!”

“Now, Roy,” said the sheriff, “he’s just having a little fun is all.” It was well-known that Hank never tried hurting anyone intentionally. He loved his six-shooter, but he mostly just liked to shoot up the mirror behind the bar, or the signs outside as he was riding back home in a drunken stupor. Sometimes, though, people did end up wounded, and then he’d be let off with a fine, always making restitution to the victim the following day when he sobered up.

“It’s not worth it, John,” said the marshal. “The town council hasn’t paid me in
three
months. I’ve submitted my time and they keep putting it off. I quit.” He took off his badge and tossed it onto the bar before leaving out the back way so that Hank wouldn’t chase him down again.

“Well, that’s just great,” the sheriff muttered on his way out the front to deal with Hank. “Hank!” he bellowed. “Get over here. We need to talk.” There wasn’t a man in Fort Worth who didn’t have respect for Sheriff Lockhart. Sober or soaked, everyone answered to him when he called your attention. Hank slid off his horse and crossed the street, looking sheepish.

“I didn’t mean him no harm,” he slurred with a smile. “Let me set things right.”

“I want you to go on home now,” Sheriff Lockhart said. “Tomorrow you’re going to come pay your fine and issue Jennings an apology. You’ll also find a job for him in one of your businesses, now that he’s quit on me.” John couldn’t blame Jennings for quitting. It was true that the town council was behind on payments, and the jobs they asked marshals to do in town were nothing more than cleaning up after the rowdy men who berated them. He felt sorry for Jennings because he knew he had a family to provide for, and Hank Hensley could make that happen.

For the next hour, Sheriff Lockhart instructed everyone on the street to clean up the town’s main roads. Nobody complained. Saloon owners sent their bar help out, regulars pitched in, and in no time it was all picked up and ready for another night of raucous behavior. The Acre was packed to the brim. There was a big card game that had brought in all the best gamblers, including a few notable outlaws. It was a given that anyone running from the law elsewhere could hide out in Hell’s Half Acre, as long as they didn’t cause any trouble. The wealthiest and most powerful citizens in Fort Worth would share the table with these professional gamblers for the big stakes game tonight.

…

Millie woke late in the afternoon. She wasn’t used to having her days and nights mixed up, but if this is what the town of Fort Worth needed, and it helped her get away from Henry, she’d gladly do it.

The scent of fresh coffee and fried onions wafted through the cabin. Millie felt completely refreshed from her hard sleep the night before. “Hope you don’t mind having breakfast for supper,” Clara said as Millie emerged from her bedroom. “Doc likes to have it sometimes, and sometimes we eat supper for breakfast!” Clara had already made supper, and set a place for Millie and Doc so they could eat before the Acre got busy. The table was overflowing with warm food—a bowl of grits, fresh made biscuits, fried potatoes with onions, bacon, and eggs on each plate.

Millie stood there looking at Clara in awe. She was a strong woman, handling everything at their home and never once complaining about Doc’s late hours or the dangerous situations he found himself in. He wasn’t an affectionate man, at least not in front of Millie, but she could see the mutual respect and love they had for one another whenever their eyes locked. It was as if they were the only two in the room—no words needed, with Doc saying
I’ll miss you tonight
with a nod to Clara and Clara saying
Come home safe
with her eyes whenever he walked out the door.

Seeing the two of them made Millie
almost
believe that there was such a thing as true love. But she knew that sometimes what people do in front of others isn’t the way they behave behind closed doors, so she wouldn’t give it too much credence yet. The two women sat down at the table. Clara’s settings were impeccable. Doc rushed out of their bedroom, adjusting his tie. He always seemed to be in a hurry, even when he wasn’t. “No need to wait for me,” he said as he sat down.

“Of course we’ll wait for you,” Clara argued playfully. “You’re the one who always says the prayer.” Doc wasn’t a very talkative man, so Clara seemed to use every opportunity to get him speaking.

The three joined hands around the table and bowed their heads as Doc began. “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for the food upon our table and ask that you share our good fortune with those who need your help in finding the same blessings in their life. Amen.” To Millie, Doc hadn’t spoken five words since she’d arrived the day before. When he did speak of anything to do with her, it was more like he was muttering to himself, not expecting an answer. It wasn’t unkind, just his way with everyone—a man locked in his own little world, where he’d opened the door just enough to allow Clara inside.

“We’re heading in early tonight,” Doc said to no one, looking down at his plate as he used a biscuit to scoop up a bite of fried eggs and grits that he’d mixed together.

“It’s the big stakes,” Clara explained to Millie. “A private game with all the top gamblers in town, plus a few high level locals.” Millie nodded like she understood, but she had no idea what Hell’s Half Acre was
really
like, outside of the quick glimpse she got of an empty Main Street when they’d picked her up from the depot.

“Not them we have to worry about,” Doc said.

Clara picked up where Doc left off, as she always did, expanding on the conversation so others could follow. “Whenever there’s a big game, the ones playing always bring their own posse with them. They’re the ones who head to the bars while the game is going, load up and cause trouble.”

Millie could feel her chest start to tighten. These were the type of games Henry always went to when he blew her money, only on a smaller level. He always looked for people he could hustle, but more often than not, he’d end up being the one hustled and come home broke, drunk and angry. “How do we protect ourselves?” Millie asked, looking straight at Doc for an answer that would quell her nerves.

Doc put his fork down and wiped his mouth. He took a long sip of coffee and then answered her. “We don’t,” he stated sharply. “Sheriff Lockhart does.”

“Sheriff
John
Lockhart,” Clara said, filling in the gaps. “He’s a wonderful man. Moved here as a Texas Ranger about seven years ago to help the new settlers protect themselves from the Indians. Even married a wonderful young lady by the name of Rose, who taught school here in Fort Worth.” Doc continued eating while Clara gossiped. Millie was too nervous to eat, so she just listened. “Oh, they were the sweetest couple,” Clara continued. “Had twin baby girls right away—Grace and Anna—long, blonde hair, just like their mama. Pity what happened to them. Broke John’s heart into a million pieces. We didn’t think he’d ever be right again.”

“What happened to them?” Millie blurted out, before realizing how rude it was to pry. She immediately bowed her head toward her lap, ashamed she’d been so up front.

Clara didn’t seem to mind. She leaned in closer, as if shielding Doc from the conversation. “The Indians got them. All of them,” she said. “John was away with some others looking into a horse theft where some of the locals had stolen some of the Comanche tribe’s horses. Wasn’t the first time it had happened, and we had a deal in place that we wouldn’t cause them anymore trouble—to keep the peace, you know.” Millie nodded as Clara continued. “He came back and Rose had been killed in the schoolhouse—found her right there on the floor in a pool of blood! Seven kids were taken, including both of his girls, just five years old. Cutest things you ever saw. Found them washed ashore on the Trinity two days later, drowned. Revenge for the horse thefts.”

Millie instinctively covered her mouth, which hung open in horror, with both hands, feeling a mix of shock and disgust. It was as if words needed to come out, but what could she say? She didn’t know the sheriff, or his family, but no man should ever have to suffer through a tragedy like that. She scooted her plate away, having left most of the delicious meal untouched. The nervous feeling was now compounded by sheer sadness, and while the meal had smelled tempting before, she couldn’t
think
of eating now.

“Oh, dear,” Clara said. “I’ve gone and said too much, haven’t I? I’ve upset you.” Doc just shook his head, as if he disapproved of the entire exchange. Clara stood up and put her arms on Millie’s shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze.

“No, I’m fine,” Millie lied, still feeling shaken. She wanted to know the rest of the story—what happened to the sheriff afterwards? Did he ever find the Indians who had done this to his wife and daughters? But she didn’t have time to ask.

Doc pushed away from the table, grabbed his hat and medical bag, and headed toward the door. “Let’s go,” he said to Millie, offering Clara a quick peck on the lips as he passed her in the doorway.

Millie wasn’t expecting to leave so soon. She quickly ran into her room to get the nursing kit Doc had left there for her, and ran outside to hop in the wagon. It was a silent ride most of the way there. Millie stared out over the plains, thinking about the sheriff as she watched the sun begin to sink and the fireflies signal to one another in the tall grass.