Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Ten minutes later, with nothing but chicken bones and lumps of cold gravy left on the plates, the cowboys got to their feet and shuffled out of the cafe. Silsby, with the heavy, oleaginous food now coating his stomach, walked much steadier. When they entered the saloon, Tommy let out a howl of delight. The two whores Fat Dora and Fanny stood at the bar waiting for them. The women were dressed in what appeared to be flannel nightgowns that went down to their knees. Black hose and white kid slippers completed their attire. It was obvious they wore no undergarments from the way Fat Dora’s nipples pressed against the material.

  “Hey, gals!” Charlie yelled.

  “We’re looking for cowboys with money in their pockets,” Fat Dora said. She was a tall, heavy blond with watery blue eyes. Her face, rosy with rouge, showed heavy creases around the eyes and mouth. Originally from the Dakotas, she spoke with a slight German accent. Her front teeth protruded a bit, and Silsby thought she was about the ugliest woman he had ever seen.

  The other saloon girl was smaller and very slim. Fanny’s dark color came from her African-Choctaw Indian ancestry. The deep pock marks on her face showed clearly even through a heavy coating of make-up. In spite of the scars left from a childhood bout of small pox, Fanny had a bright prettiness about her that was best when she smiled.

  “Say, gals, we want you to meet Silsby McCracken,” Charlie said. “He’s a new hand on the Rocking H.”

  The women gave the youngster sincere, friendly greetings. Fanny walked up to him and slipped an arm around his waist, saying, “Now ain’t you the cutest thing?” Silsby’s face reddened, and he stood awkwardly with his hands at his side as she smiled up at him.

  Charlie laughed. “You take it easy on that young feller, Fanny. He ain’t broke in yet.”

  Fanny said, “We’ll tame him down. Don’t you worry none.”

  Fat Dora was ready for work. “We need drinks,” she announced.

  Even though the cowboys knew Pete would serve watered-down whiskey to the women, they happily paid the extra price. Silsby, not interested in the whores, turned his attention to drinking. He began downing glass after glass of whiskey, taking no notice of the comings and goings of his companions and the two women.

  Later, when Silsby was deep into personal drunken thoughts, he was barely aware of what went on around him. Fanny moved up beside the boy, grabbing his arm. “Say,” she said. “You ain’t said if you want a good time or not.”

  Silsby mumbled, “I like a good time. Sure. I like a good time.”

  “It’ll cost you two dollars,” Fanny said.

  Silsby, having no idea what the girl was talking about, clumsily searched through his pockets. When he came up with a wad of bills, Fanny grabbed the money, pulled out what she wanted and stuffed the rest back into his trousers. She took him by the arm, and Silsby, in drunken confusion, allowed her to lead him out the back door.

  They went into a shed built into the back of the saloon. A small lantern with a weak, flickering flame lighted the interior. An old beat-up bed with a soiled mattress stood next to the wall. Silsby watched as the girl pulled up the skirt of her flannel gown, and lay down, holding her legs open.

  “Hey!” she called out after a couple of moments. “Get with it. I ain’t gonna lay here all night with my feet up in the air.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, shit!” She sat up and quickly undid his pants, pulling them down. Then she opened up the front of his long johns. “You ain’t even ready,” the young whore complained. She turned her professional talents on the boy until he was properly prepared for the act. Now Silsby realized he was about to fuck a woman for the first time. He was surprised and even a bit astounded that she’d laid down on her back. The boy had assumed the man would enter the woman from behind like animals.

  Fanny dragged him down to her and guided him in. Instinct took over and Silsby became excited, pushing and plunging like a bucking bronco. “Easy, godamn it!” Fanny complained. “You’re gonna knock my head through —” She stopped. “You’re finished, huh? Well, it’s like they say. It don’t take a good man long.” She pushed him off the bed and helped him to his feet. “Button yourself up before you come back to the barroom, you pecker head.”

  By the time Silsby fumbled his clothes back into proper shape, the girl was gone. He staggered back outside the shed, turning to the back door. He went inside and met Fat Dora leading a grinning, very drunk Tommy out for his third trip of the evening.

  Silsby noticed that some other men had come into the place while he was out in the shed with Fanny. He went to the bar and stumbled, staggering off to one side. He bumped into a tall, rangy man dressed in dark clothing. The fellow glared at him. “Watch what you’re doing, you drunk puppy.”

  “You shut up your godamn mouth!” Silsby snarled.

  “Hey, cowboy!” the fellow said. “I don’t shut my mouth for nobody. Much less a snot-nose kid.” He gave Silsby a slap on the side of the head.

  Silsby flew into a rage. He hit the man hard, driving him back down the bar. He followed, pummeling and kicking until the fellow fell to the floor. Silsby kept after him as the hapless man crawled in a frantic effort to escape the crazed attack.

  “Nobody hits me!” Silsby screamed. “Nobody hits me! Nobody hits me!”

  It took both Charlie and Dennis to pull their young, muscular friend away and allow the victim to reach the door and flee. Silsby tried to chase after him and almost broke free until Pete came to lend a hand. “Have a drink on me, Silsby,” the saloon owner said. “Come on. Don’t stay mad.”

  Sobbing and angry, Silsby went to the bar with the three men and quickly drank a full glass of whiskey. He looked at Charlie. “Nobody better ever hit me. Never!”

  “I reckon not.”

  “I didn’t become a cowboy so folks could hit me,” Silsby said.

  “I sure as hell ain’t never going to,” Dennis said seriously.

  Silsby kept drinking, slowing down a bit as his anger subsided. When his mood lightened, he bought a few rounds of drinks. As the evening went on, he took Fanny to the back two more times. The four cowboys kept the party going long after the last local drinker had wandered off.

  The sun was just breaking over the horizon when Silsby decided to treat everyone to another drink. He searched through his pockets but couldn’t find a single bill or coin. “I spent all my money.”

  Charlie looked drunkenly at him. “You mean you ain’t got no more money, Silsby?” He gestured to Dennis. “Silsby don’t have no more money.”

  “If he ain’t got no money, he must be poor,” Dennis said.

  “Poor ol’ cowboy,” Tommy said, staring down at his glass.

  “I cain’t buy spurs now,” Silsby said. “I spent all my money.” He stepped back from the bar and stood weaving back and forth for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he crashed to the floor.

  Tommy sighed. “Poor ol’ cowboy.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Luther McCracken did not enjoy a particularly warm welcome when he returned to the Boomer camp. Neither his wife or daughter gave him much in the way of a greeting nor did they express any curiosity about his risky sojourn onto the Medicine Bundle Grasslands.

  Luther was further disappointed when he failed to find Silsby back within the bosom of the family. He quickly noticed that Fionna’s rebellious mood had worsened, and a feeling of apprehension overtook him. He was extremely worried that this deviation in his home’s environment would get even worse.

  He warily regarded Fionna as he set down the trunk he’d taken to the Grasslands. He opened it, and gestured to the interior. “I ain’t got no clean clothes a’tall,” he informed his somber wife, “seeing as how we stayed down there longer’n we expected.” Fionna, shucking corn with Rebecca by the tent, looked up at him, but said nothing. She simply continued the work without acknowledging his remarks. Luther was gently persistent. “I’d admire to have some clean clothes to put on after a bath.”

  “Your clot
hes’ll get a proper warshing,” Fionna said. “But me and Rebecca have got some other chores to take care of first.”

  Luther’s dismay was further compounded by confusion regarding the exact sort of surliness she exhibited. Fionna wasn’t exactly disobedient, but she was plainly letting him know there were things she considered more important than his personal comfort. Nothing like that had ever happened before during their marriage, and was further evidence of the sensitivity of the present situation. He decided a display of righteous husbandly anger might not be appropriate at that particular moment in their relationship.

  However, Luther did know he could brighten things up somewhat if he waited for the right moment. There was that one thing he had done that would put both his family females in better moods. He decided to play it like an ace-in-the-hole in poker. Hold it back, then turn the card up when the time was right.

  ~*~

  Supper that evening was a decidedly solemn affair, and Luther tested the waters again. “This roast lamb is plumb delicious.”

  Fionna ignored the remark, turning to Rebecca. “Didn’t Mary Matthews say she had some extry lard?”

  “She already traded it away, Ma.”

  “Then I’ll have to try somewheres else.”

  Luther allowed a few more silent moments to go by, then said, “It was Mr. Hollings who run us off the Grasslands.”

  Silence.

  “It was perty quick and short, believe me.”

  Cold silence.

  “But I did get a chance to talk with the young man kind of personal like,” Luther continued. “I let him know as how I didn’t blame him personal for doing the job he had to do.” He waited a couple of beats, carefully observing his wife and daughter. Then he spoke out a bit louder, saying, “I told him that it was all right with me if he came visiting.”

  For a moment Fionna and Rebecca sat looking at him before turning their gazes to each other. Rebecca glanced back at her father, and quietly asked, “Pa, did you mean for him to come here? Here to visit us?”

  “Sure,” Luther said. “I been thinking on things and I reckon I’ve been hard-headed now and then. I’d like to —” He searched for the words. “— I’d like to sort of put things right if I could.”

  Fionna almost broke into tears, realizing that Luther was doing his best to make amends and bring harmony back into the family. She also knew it stung his pride a great deal, and she appreciated that his conduct showed how much he really cared for her and Rebecca. She looked at her husband and smiled for the first time since Silsby left. “That was good of you, Luther. And I’m sure Mr. Hollings felt obliged to you for the courtesy.”

  Rebecca said, “It will be nice to have Mr. Hollings visit us.”

  Luther showed a slight grin. “I think he’s a lot more interested in visiting you than me and your Ma.”

  Rebecca smiled with pleasure at the thought, and looked at her mother, and Fionna patted her hand. Fionna asked, “Did Mr. Hollings say when he might decide to visit us?”

  “He said this Saturday evening.”

  “This Saturday?” Rebecca exclaimed. “Oh, dear!”

  “He’s gonna stay at the Delmar Hotel in town,” Luther said. “I asked him if he’d like to go to church with us Sunday. He allowed as to how he would.”

  “Oh, Pa!” Rebecca said. “That was right sweet of you.” She grasped her mother’s arm. “Ma! We got so much to do!”

  “To do?” Luther asked.

  “Rebecca and I will take care of ever’thing,” Fionna said. “When we need help from you, we’ll let you know.”

  “We’ll have to start first thing tomorrow,” Rebecca said.

  Luther turned to finishing his supper, feeling that the world had suddenly become a much better place to live. Maybe not the whole world, he thought, but at least that part of it around his wagon.

  ~*~

  Saturday morning marked a flurry of activities at the McCracken campsite. The first task was to set up a parlor of sorts under the canopy between the tent and the wagon. “Oh, my Lord!” Rebecca cried, as she and her mother discussed the seating arrangements. “I wish we was living in a house.”

  “Don’t fret, honey,” Fionna said. “Mr. Hollings is well aware of our circumstances. We’ll make-do just fine.”

  She had Luther take the carpet from its place in the back of the wagon, and spread it on the grass under the canvas tarpaulin jutting out from the vehicle. Then he took their best chairs that had been carefully stored on the wagon, and put them in the exact spots Fionna indicated. A table borrowed from the Benson family would serve for placing refreshments.

  The rest of the morning and that afternoon was filled with lifting and toting for Luther, but at least the women of the family were speaking to him again even if all they were doing was giving him orders.

  ~*~

  Saturday’s dusk burned dull and reddish in a thin glow along the western horizon, and Rebecca’s mood ran from agitation to almost giddy happiness. She vacillated between humming and gritting her teeth as she dusted off the furniture for the fourth time since mid-afternoon. Fionna planned on serving coffee and cookies as refreshments. They had used the kerosene stove to maintain a steady heat for properly baking the dough.

  Rebecca couldn’t eat a thing at supper. She picked at her food, impatiently waiting for her parents to finish. Just as Luther took the last bite of his fish, Rebecca swished the plates off the table and launched herself into clean-up chores. “I’ll do that, darling girl,” Fionna said. “You go on over and take your bath. We’ll fix your hair, then we can get you dressed up real nice.”

  Luther watched his daughter rush off to the ladies wash tent, then remarked, “This seems like a lot of trouble just ’cause that young soljer-boy is coming by. He’s a nice feller. I’ll give him that, but it ain’t like he’s the president of the U.S. of A.”

  “This is woman’s doing, so don’t you worry none about it, Luther McCracken,” Fionna said.

  “I cain’t help but worry,” Luther said. “I’m caught in the middle of all this to-do.” He walked over to sit down in his favorite chair and enjoy a smoke. He was just about to step on the carpet when Fionna’s voice interrupted him.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I thought I’d smoke my pipe after supper like always.”

  “No, Luther. You’ll get ashes on the rug and furniture. Anyhow, you’ve got to change into your Sunday-go-to-meeting suit with your good shoes. Them ol’ boots will track up the carpet.”

  He stared at her. “I got to do what?”

  “You heard me, Luther McCracken!”

  “May the Good Lord deliver me from all this.”

  “The Lord above is gonna bless you for your goodness,” Fionna said. Then she frowned. “As long as you stay good, that is.”

  The supper mess was quickly cleared away as a harried Luther went into the tent to change into his suit. With the dishes taken care of, Fionna turned her attention to donning her best dress. When Rebecca returned from her bath, she wore her prettiest calico outfit. Fionna brushed and arranged her hair.

  Then the McCrackens sat down and waited.

  Rebecca, having to fight the desire to walk out between the wagons to see if Grant was coming, fidgeted in her chair. Fionna calmly knitted while Luther fumed, pulling at the stiff collar around his neck.

  “Are you sure it was this Saturday, Pa?” Rebecca asked.

  “I’m positive,” he said. “Just be patient.”

  “Maybe he’s not coming,” Rebecca moaned softly.

  “He’s coming, dear,” Fionna assured her. She looked at Luther. “Ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah. Less’n the army sent him over to the Cherokee Strip for something or another.”

  “Oh, dear!” Fionna said.

  “Why don’t you see if he’s coming, Pa?” Rebecca asked.

  Fionna interjected, saying, “I don’t want your pa walking out there and picking up dirt on his shoes. He’ll track it on the carpet.”


  Luther frowned. “Won’t Grant Hollings track dirt all over the place?”

  “That don’t matter, Luther. He’s comp’ny.”

  Luther grumbled, “Well, I reckon that shows how I rate around here.”

  Another twenty minutes went by in absolute silence until the sound of a walking horse approaching could be heard. Within moments Grant Hollings, wearing a civilian suit, appeared in front of the McCracken campsite. He dismounted and presented himself at the canopy. “Good evening,” he said. He carried a box under his arm.

  Luther, acting under Fionna’s explicit instructions, stood up and walked over, holding out his hand. “Please come in, Mr. Hollings. We’re real happy to see you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I believe you know my wife and daughter Rebecca.”

  “Certainly,” Grant said. “Good evening, ladies.” He held out the box to Fionna. “I thought some sugar candies might go well this evening.”

  “Why, thank you most kindly, Mr. Hollings,” Fionna said. “Won’t you sit down, please?”

  “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Rebecca. “How are you this evening, Miss McCracken?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking, Mr. Hollings.”

  “Would you like some coffee, Mr. Hollings?” Fionna asked.

  “That would be very nice,” Grant said. “Thank you.”

  Luther moaned at the contrived show of parlor room manners under a stretched tarpaulin. After the coffee and cookies were served, several moments of awkward silence followed. Fionna hoped that Luther would get the talk rolling, but it was obvious he felt he had done about as much as he was going to do for the time being. Fionna cleared her throat. “Ahem. I imagine you’ve been mighty busy lately, Mr. Hollings.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve been chasing — er, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Grasslands with my soldiers. As your son Silsby well knows.”

  Fionna forgot about the decorum of the visit. “You’ve seen Silsby?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fionna stood up, wringing her hands. “Oh my Lord! How is my boy? I pray they ain’t nothing bad happen to him!”