Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Fionna was not impressed. “Hmmf! The only reason he helped you was because Grant kept pestering him about it.”

  “I don’t care,” Silsby said. “Five years in jail was sure a lot better’n twenty-five to thirty.” He shook his head. “That Judge Ross is a mean ol’ man.”

  Mildred interjected, “Rebecca says Grant told her he stepped down a while back.”

  Silsby laughed. “I reckon they can close down about half of Leavenworth Prison then. I feel lucky I got that sentence reduced.”

  Mildred squeezed her husband’s arm. “We all feel that way. We surely do.” She glanced at Fionna. “But we sure had to keep our faith going strong there for a while.”

  “That we did, darling girl.”

  “Dennis wouldn’t have lived through another five years,” Silsby said seriously. “Let me tell you that straight out.”

  “He don’t look real good now,” Fionna said.

  Silsby said, “He looks a lot better now than he did up at Leavenworth.”

  The family spoke freely of Silsby’s jail sentence around the children. Since everyone in the Medicine Bundle area knew about the situation, they decided it would be ridiculous to try to hide it from the youngsters. They told the kids, “Your pa made some bad choices a long time ago, but he’s squared it all, and now he’s free and forgiven both by the Lord and the law.”

  The ride into town continued as they rolled into Medicine Bundle, going straight to Grant and Rebecca’s house. Rebecca and her four children were waiting on the porch as the wagon came to a halt.

  “Not another picnic basket!” Luther called out.

  “You can’t have enough food,” Rebecca said. Her appearance had evolved to the point that she looked almost identical to Fionna when she was younger. A lot of people remarked that they could pass as sisters.

  “When we get out to the fair grounds and start to eat, you’ll see them vittles disappear fast enough,” Fionna said. “I know this crowd!”

  Silsby jumped down to help everyone up into the wagon. He looked toward the house. “Where’s Grant? Ain’t he coming?”

  “He’s got a work day ahead of him,” Rebecca said. “Any celebration means extra duty for the county sheriff and his deputies.”

  “That’ll teach him to get into politics,” Silsby said, pulling himself back onto the vehicle. “Has he joined Markham’s team yet?”

  “He announced his support yesterday,” Rebecca said. “Grant is backing him all the way.”

  “I’ll bet ol’ Nolan Sinclair is turning over in his grave,” Luther said.

  Silsby laughed. “Yeah! Me too. He’d have had that heart failure anyhow when he found out his favorite deputy marshal went for an elected law office and ended up in Lorenzo Markham’s political organization.”

  “That’s right,” Rebecca said. “Now don’t be surprised if in a couple of years Grant runs for congressman or even senator himself. He’s just starting.”

  “This is the time to do it,” Silsby said.

  “I’ll bet Senator Grant Hollings could get you a full pardon,” Rebecca said.

  “Maybe so,” Silsby agreed.

  “Well, let’s get up to Main Street and find a good place to watch the parade,” Luther suggested.

  The wagon, creaking and clacking, continued through Medicine Bundle’s residential area toward the business district.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Silsby McCracken and Dennis Nettles never openly discussed their prison experiences with anybody, whether family or friends. The pair of old pards even avoided conversation between themselves about the awful years in the penitentiary. After their release, neither one made as much as a passing comment about the horrible experience. They were separated the entire time they spent in Leavenworth, and were confined in different areas.

  Both were shocked and devastated by the first encounter with incarceration. The close confinement was hell-on-earth for the two cowboys who had spent their youth freely ranging across open prairie country whether herding cattle, rustling horses, or fleeing posses.

  The agony began during the journey from the Guthrie lockup northward to the penitentiary. Rather than a rail trip, Silsby and Dennis suffered the ignominy of travel by a horse-drawn prison wagon with one small barred window on each side and back. Three other handcuffed and shackled prisoners shared the stifling interior during the eight-day journey. The rations were meager, and a single bucket served as the latrine. After the jarring, painful monotony of the trip across the prairie, they finally reached their destination on a hot blistering afternoon.

  Bellowing guards ordered the exhausted passengers out of the wagon. They stepped from the vehicle into the prison yard to be quickly ushered into a reception building. Once inside, the newcomers suffered the humiliation of being stripped and hosed down by a trustee who concentrated the stinging spray on the crotches and buttocks of the new prisoners.

  They stood shivering and naked after the bathing procedure while a doctor gave them a cursory physical examination. This consisted of ordering them to demonstrate if they could move all their limbs freely and fully. When that was done, they were pronounced fit for hard labor and told to don their new clothing. After putting on the striped uniforms, photos were taken, and they were marched to the interior of the prison to the barbershop to have their heads shaved.

  After that came the cell assignments. It was at that point that Silsby and Dennis were separated, and would not see each other again for more than five years. Silsby waved at Dennis as he was led away, and earned a hard rap across the shoulders from a truncheon in the hands of a burly guard. This painful clout was for having the temerity to make the gesture without permission.

  Silsby was surprised to find out that the penitentiary was self-supporting through its coal mine. The convicts assigned to the pit, as it was called, were divided into two work gangs. One group labored in the tunnels, digging out the coal with pick and shovel, and the second pushed the carts full of the anthracite along tracks that led up to the surface.

  When Silsby was marched down to begin his first ten-hour shift, he found his youth and muscularity entitled him to membership in the first group. The trustee in the tool room issued him a pick.

  Silsby adapted slowly to his new life. He decided to forget about the time ahead of him and to endure the long sentence as best he could. He was twenty-two years old and did his best not to let his mind dwell on the fact he would be somewhere between forty-seven and fifty-two years of age before he walked out of prison a free man. He also reconciled himself to the fact that the law would permit Mildred to get a quick divorce. She would no doubt eventually tend to that matter and get on with her life. This latter thought would come on unbidden and strong during the long nights in his cell, torturing him with deep depressing feelings of hopelessness.

  A couple of months after his imprisonment another convict in his cellblock committed suicide by hanging himself in his cell. Silsby seriously began to consider that taking his life was a desirable alternative to a long prison sentence. Better to die quickly instead of slowly rotting over crawling decades.

  Then the first letters from home arrived.

  One was from his mother and the other from Mildred. The arrival of that mail helped him put things into a different perspective. He was not alone in the world. His mother’s words told him how much they loved him and were working through Grant to get his sentence reduced. Mildred wrote a long two-page, rambling message without punctuation. It took him a whole evening to figure out what she wanted to say to him. It seemed she would be living permanently with his parents on the farm, and she promised to wait for him. Now he had hope. A lawman brother-in-law was working hard to get his sentence reduced, his parents still loved and accepted him, and his wife waited faithfully for the day he would be free. From that point on, Silsby settled in to make his stay as tolerable as possible. He would obey the rules, show respect to the guards, and try to keep himself healthy during all the years ahead.

  De
nnis Nettles, on the other hand, turned his own prison time into one of violent hell. The supervision of the guards punctuated with sharp raps from clubs was more than he could endure. He fought back savagely not only against the staff but also took out his rage on his fellow prisoners. Consequently he spent long months at a time locked in the dark, damp hell of solitary confinement.

  The ex-cowboy would be thrown naked and snarling into a room with only a blanket and a bucket. In the summer he broiled in the close confines of the primitive cells while the winters were long with a frigid chill that felt as if it were penetrating his flesh all the way down to the bone. After a particularly serious brawl, he was confined in the hole for one solid year.

  Silsby learned of the reduction of his sentence after serving a total of sixty-two months. He was called in from his job in the mines and told he was to be taken to the warden’s office. When he arrived, he was ushered in, and noted that there was already another convict there. This was an ancient gnome who stood with a hangdog look in front of the prison chief’s desk. He and Silsby barely acknowledged each other.

  “This is the luckiest day of your lives,” the warden informed them. “The Federal court in Guthrie has sent a computation of your sentences. You are to be returned to society within thirty days.”

  With that official pronouncement taken care of, the warden launched into his usual speech delivered to convicts about to be released. This was a stern lecture in which he stated that he hoped they had learned their lessons, but if they hadn’t mended their ways, their old cells would be waiting for them.

  As the warden droned on, Silsby was shocked when he realized the old man beside him was his former pard Dennis. The talk concluded with instructions they were to pack up what belongings they had before being moved to the short-timer cellblock.

  Twenty-three days later, Silsby and Dennis went through the procedure of dismissal. This included another hosing down, another set of photos, a cheap suit of clothing, and the legal documents to prove they were authorized to leave the prison.

  They walked through the gates to find Grant Hollings waiting for them. The U.S. marshal took them to the rail depot in the town of Leavenworth, and they boarded the train for Medicine Bundle.

  ~*~

  The McCracken Thanksgiving dinner of 1907 in their farm home was an event that included more than just the immediate family. Grant and Rebecca’s bunch along with Silsby and Mildred’s always presented themselves for the day’s celebration. Additionally, Ingvar and Anna Lindgren with their children also attended. Another person with a permanent invitation was Dennis Nettles.

  He was not a lively or talkative guest, but he stayed sober for the occasion and replied politely to any questions or comments directed his way. Dennis never once displayed any resentment toward Silsby for shooting Charlie Ainsley, nor for the beatings he’d received at Grant’s hands. Most in the family believed this wasn’t because he had a forgiving nature, but that he couldn’t clearly remember past events because of heavy drinking and the hard years in prison.

  Not long after everyone arrived at the McCracken farm to celebrate that particular Thanksgiving, the children launched into their farmyard games, chasing each other through the barn to jump into piles of hay. The older Hollings kids supervised the more rambunctious younger ones. The men were also outside, gathered to talk. Dennis, in his usual manner, stayed just outside the group and offered nothing to the discussions.

  The main topic of conversation among the males that year was the rumor that the capital of the state might be moved from Guthrie to Oklahoma City farther south. They all agreed it wouldn’t really make much difference to the folks of Medicine Bundle one way or the other.

  Inside the house the women made the final preparations and set the tables that had been crammed into the parlor to accommodate the numerous diners. When all the preparations for the meal were complete, Fionna came to the door and hollered at the top of her voice: “It’s ready!”

  The men moved toward the house, wrapping up the pre-dinner conversations while the children streamed around them in a mad rush to reach their own special table. Dennis was the last to enter and sit down.

  The Thanksgiving dinners always began the same way. Before the blessing was given, anyone who desired to do so, stood up to tell what he or she was the most thankful about during the previous year. And, as was also customary, Luther was first.

  “I’m thankful for the state of the crops this year though ever’thing didn’t go as well as it could,” he stated. Then he glanced upward. “Not that I’m complaining about a little dry weather, Lord.”

  As soon as he sat down, Fionna stood up and gave everyone a loving smile. “I thank the Lord that ever’body is well and happy.”

  Grant said, “I’m thankful that we’re all together on this special day.”

  Silsby stood up. “I’m happy about the new colts that was borned this year.”

  Ingvar Lindgrin was appreciative of the fact he owned his own land. “Ve got more den enough to eat, and da veat’er ain’t alvays so good, but it’s a lot better dan in Minnesota or Sverige, er, I mean Sveden.”

  Dennis Nettles hesitated, then remained seated while he said, “I’m glad there ain’t a thunderstorm today.” He shrugged and added, “That’s the onliest thing I could think of.”

  Mildred smiled shyly and stood up. “I’m thankful for something that covers more’n just this year.” She looked at Fionna. “I’m so happy that a long time ago a wonderful lady taught me how to always hope for the best and to hang on to my dreams no matter what happened.”

  “Now, honey,” Fionna said, “I just brung out what was already in you.”

  Luther looked around. “Anybody else?” The remainder of the adults declined the offer, and he glanced over at the children’s table. “What about you young’uns?”

  “We’re hungry!”

  “Let’s eat!”

  Luther grinned. “Bow your heads then. Good Lord, we thank you for this bounty and ask your blessing on them that eats it. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  An enthusiastic attack on the food began as silverware clanked, dishes clattered, and the talking and laughter were interrupted only by food being shoved into eager mouths. In a half-hour, the two turkeys were bare carcasses, the corncobs stripped, and the bowls of yams and potatoes contained only the residue of the original contents.

  The pumpkin pies were served as quickly as possible, delayed only by the time required to dump globs of whipped cream on the orange slabs. Only when this last serving was consumed did the meal come to its official end.

  At that point the children were excused to make a run for the door to enjoy what daylight was left. The men slowly pushed themselves away from the table and waddled outside. The inevitable lighting of tobacco in the form of cigars and stuffed pipe bowls heralded clouds of smoke to drift across the farmyard.

  The women, sitting silently for a few moments, looked at the remains of the meal. Fionna was the first to get up. She stacked some dishes and bowls, carrying them out to the kitchen sink where basins and a bucket of water waited. Within moments the others followed her example and the clean-up began with an informal division of labor as each lady found something to do.

  That was the time for the men to come back into the house to put the parlor back into its original condition. Then they settled down on sofas and chairs to resume their interrupted smoking and conversation. After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, the women joined them.

  Dennis Nettles had already left. He mounted his horse for a ride into Medicine Bundle to have a few drinks. The Lindgrens made their farewells next. They had a ways to go to their own place that was between Medicine Bundle and the site of the ghost town of Kensaw. Silsby and Mildred left a half-hour later to check on the new colt. Grant and Rebecca stayed to enjoy some coffee.

  Fionna whisked her apron at the smoke that floated through the parlor. “If you two gentlemen feel the need to puff anymore, please go outside.”


  Luther laughed. “This is the onliest day of the year that a feller can light up in this house.”

  “And that might change,” Fionna said. “Whew!”

  Grant reached in his vest and pulled out a couple of cigars. “I picked these up at the OK Saloon, Luther.”

  “They look right fancy,” Luther said. “What’d they cost? Fifteen cents?”

  “Twenty-five cents,” Grant said. “Let’s light them up and see if they’re worth it.”

  Rebecca went over and opened the door. “Please! Outside!”

  The two men obediently stepped out into the farmyard. They bit off the ends of the stogies and shared a match that Grant lit off the seat of his trousers. “Mmm!” Grant said, exhaling. “Not bad!”

  “Perty good,” Luther agreed.

  They smoked in silence, looking over the expanse of prairie farmland that extended far out in front of them. Even in the descending darkness, the wide expanse of fenced-in fields was impressive.

  Luther and Grant enjoyed the cigars as the peacefulness of the country evening eased over the scene, and a cool but comfortable breeze built up from the north. A moment later Rebecca could be heard saying something and Fionna’s laughing reply was incomprehensible.

  ~*~

  After Grant, Rebecca, and their brood had left, Luther remained outside by himself. The cigar was finished and he now puffed on his faithful pipe. After a few moments, Fionna joined him. “It’s an unseasonable nice evening, ain’t it, Luther? Only a little coolness in the air.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “That means a colder winter with lots of snow. It’ll be good for next year’s wheat crop.”

  “Ever’body seems to be turning to wheat,” she remarked.

  “Well, the stuff grows as good here as in Kansas.”

  The waning day slowly and gradually eased away. The sky was cloudless and clear, and Fionna watched the dwindling red glow of daylight. She smiled to herself, certain that the next morning’s sunrise would be bright and glorious.