Esther

by Jim Cox

  John looked around. The bartender had his back to him, and the customers standing on both sides of him were in heated discussions. Very slowly John’s right hand slipped to the countertop and inched toward a half-full glass. He thought he’d gotten away with the steal, but as he was tossing the whiskey down, the man who the drink belonged to shouted out, “what are you doin’…that’s my liquor you’re drinking.” The saloon became quiet, and all eyes centered on the drunk who held the empty glass. John felt a tinge of embarrassment but not much.

  The bartender set a clean glass in front of the customer whose drink John had taken, filled it, and then turned to John with a snarled face. “Get out of here, John,” he shouted, “and never come back in here again. If you do, I’ll call the sheriff.” John didn’t move. He simply stood looking into the staring faces he’d once thought were friends. “I said to get out, John…you ain’t welcomed in here no more, and if you ain’t gone by the time I count to ten, I’m getting the sheriff.” John eyed the bartender for a spell and then slowly turned, walked to the front of the saloon with all eyes on him and exited through the batwings.

  He was about to sit down on the saloon’s boardwalk bench when he saw his own reflection in the window. He was appalled at his image and had no idea he had let himself get in this condition. His coat and pants were wrinkled and dirty with streaks of grime on them. His white shirt was so dirty it had turned a dingy gray. His string tie was untied and hung loose from his unbuttoned shirt collar. But what got John’s attention the most was the appearance of his own face. His cheeks were extremely thin below bloodshot eyes sunk deep into black holes. His hair and beard were a tangled, greasy mess. His black derby had lost all of its shape and was as filthy as the rest of him. John looked down at his boots. He couldn’t tell whether they were covered with mud or manure.

  John was in agony as he sat on the saloon bench, doubled-up and shaking from the want of whiskey—his belly was about to explode. For a brief second he thought of his family, but then his mind turned back to the brown liquid that provided him with comfort and peace of mind. I’ve got to get a bottle, he thought, but how am I gonna get it. I’ve sold everything that had any value—even my horse. John looked down at the gun hanging from his side. I might get twenty dollars for it, but I ain’t gonna sell it; I might need it.

  Several ideas about getting whiskey had gone through John’s mind when one surfaced with a possibility. I’ll go to Mrs. Hux’s boarding house where Esther and the young’ens stayed. She had a soft heart for ʼem, so maybe I can talk her out of some money or even a bottle if she has one. Besides, maybe she knows where Esther and the kids lit out to.

  »»•««

  “I told you never to set foot in my house again, John Taylor. What are you doing here—what do you want?” Mrs. Hux said in a scolding tone.

  “I ain’t been doing so good, Mrs. Hux,” John said with his eyes cast toward the floor. “My money’s all gone, and I’ve sold everything I had of any value.” John paused and looked up into her eyes. “I ain’t had a good meal since you kicked me out four weeks ago, and I’ve been sleeping wherever there’s a warm spot.”

  “What do you want from me, John?”

  “You’re the only person left, Mrs. Hux…the only person who ain’t already turned me away. I ain’t even allowed in the saloon anymore.”

  The boarding house woman had seen her share of alcoholics in her day, and John fit the description. “What you really want from me is a bottle of whiskey; ain’t that right?” she said rather firmly.

  With tight lip and eyes toward the floor, he nodded. Seconds later he said, “Yes ma’am. I need a drink in the worse way.”

  “Look at yourself, John Taylor,” Mrs. Hux started. “I’ve heard about your goings-on the last few weeks; it’s a disgrace what you’ve become. Nothing but a bum—the town drunk. Your clothes are filthy, you smell terrible, and your face looks like death warmed over. On top of all that you’re shaking like a leaf from needing a drink.” Having said that, Mrs. Hux swung the door wide and motioned him in.

  Entering the kitchen, she said, “Take a seat at the table, John, I’ll be back in a minute.” When she returned, John’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the bottle of whiskey she was holding. Mrs. Hux retrieved a glass from the cabinet, poured two fingers of the brown liquid into it, and said, “I’m giving you a couple drinks to settle your nerves, John, so we can get you cleaned up and get some food down ya’. Then we’re gonna have a long talk.”

  After John had downed the second serving of whiskey, he followed Mrs. Hux instructions and took a long hot bath, using plenty of soap. Then he trimmed his hair and beard and dressed in clothes Mrs. Hux had found in her back closet. After dressing, he sat down to a delicious meal of fried potatoes, hominy, slices of salted ham, and warmed-over cornbread. When he had finished eating, the two lingered over coffee.

  “That shirt and pants you’re wearing is a mite short in the sleeves and legs,” she said. “But they’ll have to do for now. I’ve got your clothes soaking in hot soapy water. After they’ve soaked for a spell, you can rinse the soap out and hang ʼem on the clothesline out back. They’ll dry fairly fast in this afternoon sun.” John nodded.

  John could tell Mrs. Hux was about to unload her sermon, so he beat her to the punch. “Where’s my family, Mrs. Hux? I’ve got to find ʼem, and I believe you know their whereabouts.”

  Mrs. Hux looked at John with questioning eyes. “Esther didn’t tell me where they were headed, and even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. If you located her, you’d only be mean to her, slapping her around, and trying to get revenge. Ain’t that right, John?” Mrs. Hux didn’t expect an answer, and none came. She continued, “You have a wonderful family, John. You couldn’t ask for any better. But your behavior has become so terrible you’re impossible to live with. Esther put up with your bad treatment longer than most women would have.”

  “I ain’t gonna hit her anymore—I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “O’ yes you would, John. You’d hit and kick her the first time you came home drunk. It must be in your nature. When you drink, you get mean. The only way you’ll ever straighten out and treat folks respectable is to stop drinkin’.”

  John’s face reddened, and his eyes turned a bit wild, “I’m gonna find ʼem, Mrs. Hux, with or without your help. No wife of mine is gonna get away with stealing my money and running off with my young’ens. I’ll find ʼem, there ain’t no doubt about that, and when I do, they’ll be hell to pay.”

  Mrs. Hux was taken-back at John’s statement and knew she’d made a mistake letting him into her house. It’s time I get shut of him, she thought.

  She stood and with a firm voice said, “I want you to leave, John. You ain’t welcomed in my home anymore. I thought you might have changed from your old ways, but you haven’t.”

  “I ain’t leaving ʼtil my clothes get dry, and that won’t be for a few hours, so just calm yourself, old lady.” Then he reached for the bottle, sitting at the end of the table and poured himself a drink. Only the clinking of bottle against glass sounded in the quiet kitchen while John sat with a silly looking smile throwing down the whiskey.

  After he’d had three or four drinks, Mrs. Hux excused herself and went to another room. When she returned, she held the same gun she’d used to chase him off before, and the barrel was pointed at his belly. “We’re going to the law office, and we’re heading there right now, so get moving. If you try anything shady you’re a dead man, John Taylor,” she said, and the sound of her gun hammer being cocked confirmed her resolve.

  ∙•∙

  John woke to the sound of his cell door being unlocked and opened the next morning. “Here’s your clothes Mrs. Hux brought by,” a big man with a star pinned to his vest said. “She said to leave the borrowed clothes you have on, and she’ll pick ʼem up later.” John accepted his clothes and proceeded to put them on, and then he walked out into the office part of the jail. He found the sheriff sitting behind his desk. When
the sheriff looked up and saw him, he motioned for John to sit down in a chair next to his desk.

  “Listen up, John Taylor, and listen good,” the sheriff said firmly with a sober expression. “I’ve been hired to keep our town rid of men like you. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived and now look at yourself. You’ve buried your friend, lost your wife and children, and now you’re bothering widow Hux. We don’t think your sort is fit to be a part of us, so I’m ordering you to get out of town. You have one hour, and if you ain’t gone by then, you’ll be hung at high noon. Is that understood?”

  John was devastated. “I don’t have a horse, sheriff. How am I supposed to leave?” he asked.

  “There’s an old hag of a horse tied to the rail outside…it’s yours. I got Smitty to trade the horse for your gun and holster. A man who’ll threaten an old woman shouldn’t have a gun.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The morning after the freezing rain started, Esther woke at her normal time and went to the window facing the river. She estimated the time to be a couple hours before sunrise, so nothing was visible outside except for the dim burning street light illuminating the falling rain. The rain is still freezing on everything it lands on, she thought as she looked around at the thick ice covering.

  Esther tiptoed around while she dressed, being as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake Joan or Mark. When she left the room, the aroma of breakfast cooking brought a smile, and as she entered the dining room, to her surprise, Doyle was sitting at a corner table with coffee in hand, reading the Memphis News.

  “May I join you for breakfast?” Esther said as she approached his table.

  Doyle was surprised to see Esther at this early hour, quickly stood, and pulled out a chair for her. “I’d be pleased if you did, and I’m sorry I didn’t see you coming.”

  “You seemed to have been engrossed in the newspaper, Doyle. I’ve heard a little about newspapers, but I’ve never seen one ʼtil now. Does it have any good stories?”

  “Yes it does, Esther. The editor seems to have a vivid imagination. This is the second one I’ve seen; the first was during my last trip to Memphis. It’s been quoted the press will do more to tame the western lands than any other thing, Esther.”

  “I understand the press is spreading like wildfire across the country—especially in the larger towns of the west. How long has Memphis had a newspaper, Doyle?”

  Doyle studied on her question, “If I remember correctly, the Memphis News was started three years ago when a man from the east brought in a press. I heard he struggled the first year because of a lack of business, but after he got the hang of what folks were interested in, the paper grew substantially.”

  “May I pour you a cup of coffee, ma’am?” a waiter asked. Esther hadn’t seen the waiter approach and was a bit startled.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’d enjoy one.”

  “You can top mine off too if you don’t mind,” Doyle said, “and I believe we’re ready to order.”

  The two ate companionably, and after their dirty dishes had been removed, they lingered over coffee. Eventually, Doyle asked, “What are your plans, Esther? What are you gonna do?”

  Esther didn’t answer right off. Instead, she turned her head to the unknown trying to formulate an answer to Doyle’s question, but none came. She turned back to him with watery eyes and said, “I don’t know, Doyle. I don’t have any thoughts whatsoever about what we should do. Perhaps, I can find a job here in Memphis working at a mercantile or even doing house cleaning. But…” She stopped before finishing her sentence.

  “What were you going to say, Esther?” She only shook her head while wiping her eyes. “You were gonna say it might be easy for your husband to find you at a riverside town like Memphis; isn’t that right?”

  Esther was a little taken-aback at Doyle’s comment about her husband since she’d not discussed the matter with him. “Apparently, you’ve talked with Mark about the dilemma I’m having with my husband?”

  “Yes, I have. He told me some of the details when we were chasing after you and Joan. He said your husband had turned to drinking and became extremely mean when he got drunk. Mark said your husband beat you when he drank—said he would even kick you after knocking you down.” Doyle paused and then said, “I can’t understand why any man would do that to his wife.”

  “Was that all Mark told you?” she asked.

  “That’s about all he explained, Esther. Why don’t you tell me the whole story? It’s like you told me last night over dinner, sometimes talking about our problems can help ease the pain.”

  Esther was a bit hesitant at first but finally started with their marriage beginnings, when things were good, and they were happy. She progressed to the time John became lazy and didn’t tend to farm chores, and how he had later gambled away their mortgage money causing them to lose their farm, forcing them to move a couple of times. She explained his taking to drinking and how he’d come home with a mean demeanor and beat her, sometimes even hitting Mark which made her question whether the obligations of her marriage vows were more important than motherhood. She ended with the whole episode of his becoming a thief, wanted by the law, and why she made the decision to leave him before he did something terrible to her or the children.

  “Do you have any money, Esther? Do you have enough to get by on for a while?” Doyle quickly paused, thinking Esther might perceive his questions to be centered on his own benefit. “Please don’t take me wrong, Esther, I’m thinking of…” she quickly butted in.

  “Don’t worry about it, Doyle,” she said with a smile, “I know you have my interest at heart.” He nodded and returned the smile.

  Doyle was about to make another comment when he saw Joan and Mark coming across the room. After a bit of small talk, the children ordered their food and Doyle excused himself. However, as he stood to leave, he made arrangements for them all to meet for their noon meal.

  By mid-morning, the rain had stopped, and the bright sun had come out warming the temperature considerably which caused the ice to start melting. The word was soon being spread, the steamer would be leaving tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, and all passengers should be at boat-side thirty minutes beforehand.

  The day passed sluggishly—the noon meals lingered longer than normal; departure preparations were made; groups of women gathered in the hotel lobby, discussing what their plans would be after they landed, or whatever topic struck them to pass the time. Three tables were circled with men playing cards. Esther and Doyle sat in cushioned chairs at the back of the lobby away from the crowds.

  “I’m thankful for your help, Doyle, but feel bad you’ve ended up here in Memphis miles away from your home. How will you get back?”

  “There’s a northbound river boat scheduled to be here the middle of next week. I’ll take it to Cairo, and hire someone to canoe me to Paducah where my horse is waiting and ride it home.”

  Esther cleared her throat and said with a tone of concern, “The hotel desk clerk told me you requested all of my hotel charges to be included in your bill. I’d like to pay for my expenses and for the time you’ve spent away from your business on my behalf. I have the money, Doyle, so don’t worry about that. I owe you my life and Joan’s. Please tell me what I owe you."

  “I’ll not do that, Esther. You don’t owe me a thing. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself like I have the last several days with Mark, chasing after you and Joan; it’s been a real adventure—a welcomed break. Even though it hasn’t been romantic for you, I’d be dishonest if I didn’t admit I have strong feelings for you.” Doyle reached for her hand—she obliged.

  A long minute passed before Esther pulled her hand away and as their eyes met and stayed fixed on one another, she said, “I have feelings for you too, Doyle, but remember, I’m a married woman.” He only nodded.

  Esther started to discuss her plans with Doyle, but he stopped her, as he handed her an envelope from his coat pocket. “What’s this?” She a
sked.

  “It’s passage on the steamer to New Orleans for you and your children, Esther. There’s also a letter written to good friends of mine, who I’ve asked to help you find housing and a means of a good livelihood. Don’t worry; they’ll take good care of you.”

  “Thank you, Doyle,” Esther said as she wiped her eyes, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” A minute or so passed.

  “Esther,” Doyle said with a cautious voice, “would it be all right if we stayed in contact with each other?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nearly a week after the Natchez IV steamer left Memphis, it pulled up to the dock in New Orleans. Esther, Joan, and Mark had been treated like royalty during the trip, and they enjoyed every minute of it. Esther had a strong feeling Doyle had arranged for their lavish accommodations which was unlike anything she’d experienced before.

  As the passengers left the craft onto the landing area, nearly everyone was greeted with hugs and kisses and then hurried off to a waiting buggy. Within minutes the entire landing area was void of people except for Esther, Joan, and Mark, who stood back uncertain where to go next.

  “Let me be of assistance to you and your children, Mrs. Taylor,” the captain of the Natchez said as he walked from the boat onto the landing. “Captain Doyle asked me to see to it you found your way to the address he gave you.”

  “Thank you, sir; that would be most helpful,” Esther said offering a smile. Within minutes the Taylors were in a buggy heading for the address Doyle had given her. 637 Bourbon Street. Esther assumed the address was for a home in the residential area, but to her surprise, the driver turned down a cobblestone street leading toward the business district. Their eyes took in the colorful people bustling about wearing all sorts of clothing—some people in the latest style while others wore rags. Fancy carriages were on the move at intersections, and the storefronts displayed their goods in large front windows as their buggy passed by. Often times at street corners, people were gathered listening to songs being sung, and instruments played.