by Judith Pella
Deborah heard such stories all the time here in prison. Some of the women were victims like Lucy; others were perhaps more deserving of their punishments. But they all were needy. For the most part, their hope had been pretty well destroyed by the realities of life. And any shred of hope left in tact was being steadily wiped out by their sojourn in prison.
Deborah thought there could be no lower existence possible than prison life. Although the two dozen women were kept entirely separate from the hundred men in the prison, their standard of life was no better. The food and conditions were far worse than when Deborah had been imprisoned with the Cheyenne women at Fort Dodge. At least then there had been a camaraderie and kinship among the women that had been uplifting and positive. Here, each woman seemed isolated within personal barriers. The strong tried to dominate the weak, making everyone defensive and suspicious. The women guarded themselves against becoming too friendly, perhaps because they wanted no ties to this nightmarish existence.
Deborah’s thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of stirring in the bunk opposite hers. Lucy Reeves was waking. She let out a miserable-sounding groan as she raised up on one elbow, rubbing her sleepy eyes with her other hand.
“Morning already?” she said with a thick voice.
“Just after sunup,” Deborah replied.
“That’s what I hate most about this place; there’s no chance to sleep late. Where I lived before, because we used to work late, there was nice heavy curtains over the windows. That’s the first thing I’m going to do when I get out—sleep till noon.”
“Sounds nice, Lucy. The first thing I’m going to do is ride a horse as far and as fast as I can—that is, after I hug my children and kiss my husband.”
“So you think you really are going to get out someday, Deborah?”
Lucy was the only person who had been open and friendly to Deborah. They had exchanged their stories and talked on a personal level. Perhaps because Lucy knew her release was near, she wished to start living again as a civilized person, not a caged animal.
“I have to hope, Lucy. My only other choice is despair, and I refuse to give in to that.”
“There are other choices, Deborah. And if I was in your spot, I’d think about them.”
“What do you mean?”
Lucy sat up, dangling her feet over the side of the bed. Then she glanced furtively over her shoulder toward the bars that formed the front of their cell. Apparently satisfied there were no listeners, she ambled over to Deborah’s bed and sat on the edge. She was a pretty woman, with her freckled face washed free of the heavy makeup she was accustomed to wearing as a saloon girl. Prison life had made her pale, with dark circles under her green eyes, but even so, Deborah thought the girl probably looked better now. Lucy complained that prison also had made her lose her figure, which before had been buxom and curvy and appealing to men. She was thin, and the drab gray prison dress didn’t help.
Lucy leaned toward Deborah with a confidential air. “I’ve been talking to Nedra, you know, in the third cell down. I’ll let you in on something, Deborah, because I like you and I think you can keep things to yourself.” She glanced again at the cell door. “Nedra’s planning to escape. She asked me to come with her.”
“How can you think of escaping, Lucy, when you have so little time left to serve?”
“I may be crazy, but not that crazy. It’s you I’m thinking of.”
“Me?”
“Sure. You don’t plan on spending the rest of your life here, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But I had hoped to leave by the front door, not the back.”
“Sounded like they had an open and shut case against you. Didn’t you say you’d already been convicted?”
“Yes, but my husband is on his way east right now to speak with a lawyer—”
“Lawyers! Don’t trust them, Deborah. Through most of my trial, my lawyer was half drunk—and he was all drunk the rest of the time. You’ll have better luck with Nedra. She’s got a good plan, but she can’t do it alone. She wants someone with a good head on her shoulders; that’s why she asked me. She thought you’d work out, too.”
“Thanks for the thought, Lucy, but I’m not ready to take that kind of risk yet. I tried that route and—”
Nell, in the bunk over Deborah’s bed, began to stir. Lucy quickly placed a finger over her lips and jerked her head toward their cell mate.
“Don’t let her in on it,” Lucy said in a whisper. “Nedra absolutely doesn’t want her because of her violent temper.”
“I won’t say a word,” assured Deborah.
“And I’m serious about that lawyer business. You’ll be better off escaping.”
“What’s that ‘bout escaping?” Nell asked in a groggy voice.
“I said there was no escaping this stinking sunlight,” answered Lucy quickly.
“That’s for sure. They gotta get somethin’ on these windows.” Nell rolled over and was soon snoring again.
Lucy returned to her own bed, sat for a few minutes, then rose and began pacing idly about. Her restlessness soon began to affect Deborah, who tried to focus on her reading but found it more and more difficult. She wanted to get up and pace also.
She thought about what Lucy had said. Deborah had already tried escaping once and here she was locked up again. True, she’d had nineteen wonderful years of freedom, raised two fine children, married two remarkable men, acquired a productive ranch, and most especially, discovered a real faith in God. She could not deny that God had given much to her and made the most of those years, but she was still right back in the same—
Deborah silently rebuked herself. She was not in the same place. Nineteen years ago she had been alone, helpless, and without hope. All that was changed now. People who loved and cared for her were out there right now working and striving to free her. Poor Griff had nearly given his life for her, not to mention all the hands at the ranch who had been willing to risk unknown danger on her behalf. That was a far cry from the young Deborah Stoner who had not a friend in the world, and had not even had a lawyer to defend her at the trial.
She could not let herself forget how fortunate she was now, how much hope she had.
She remembered the excitement Sam had injected into the letter he had written her before leaving for Philadelphia. He said he truly believed God was guiding him in this direction. He didn’t want to promise what might come of it, but he knew that if God was behind it, something good would spring from his efforts.
She had to believe that, too, and to banish all thoughts of escape. The idea of running gave in to hopelessness and despair. And she still had hope.
23
Sam was discouraged.
He had arrived in Philadelphia on Thursday and gone directly to the law office of Jonathan Barnum. There he had met with an obstinate clerk named Chester Duncan, the same man who had sent Sam the telegram in Austin.
Mr. Duncan had been superficially polite; actually, he had been rather condescending to this provincial dressed in rather coarse clothes who spoke with a rural accent. Sam had worn his best suit for his arrival, but it did look somewhat rumpled after sitting in his carpetbag for over a week. He was out of his element here, in this big city, in a fancy office, standing before a man of education and culture. But Sam was on a mission, and he would not be so easily daunted.
“Look here, Mr. Duncan,” Sam said respectfully but firmly, “I’ve come a long way to see Mr. Barnum—”
“I had hoped to save such an ordeal with my telegram.”
“And I appreciate that. But you see my wife is in a lot of trouble, not of her own making, and she needs some powerful help. Now, we got lawyers in Texas, but she needs the best, and I just sense Mr. Barnum is the man for us.”
“But as I explained in my telegram, Mr. Barnum has retired—why, he’s not even in town at the moment.”
“Is he sickly or something?”
“Of course not! I never saw a more robust man for his age.”
; “There you go!” Sam said triumphantly. “I’ll bet he don’t even care to be put out to pasture then. He’s probably just itching to be back to work.”
“A month ago all he was talking about was getting away to do some fishing. He has worked hard all his life and has earned a comfortable retirement.”
“I don’t dispute that. All I ask is a chance to talk to him, to tell him about my wife, and to let him decide if he’d like to take this case or not.”
Duncan shook his head obdurately. “I have been entrusted with the responsibility of closing up this office, disseminating Mr. Barnum’s caseload—not taking on new cases. My responsibility is to Mr. Barnum alone. I am sorry, Mr. Killion.”
Sam scratched his head and thought a moment. “Maybe you could get hold of—”
“Impossible.”
“Could you tell me where—?”
“I’m sorry.”
Sam sighed, a bit abashed but still not discouraged. He bade the protective clerk good-day and returned to his hotel. After a good meal and a night’s rest, he was ready to begin his quest anew.
He went back to the office, hoping someone new might be there, only to find Mr. Duncan hovering over the office like a hen over her brood. Sam tried once more to prod the man into helping him, but without success. He’d had better luck converting drunken cowboys.
At that point his confidence had begun to ebb. Back at his hotel, the desk clerk asked him how much longer he would want the room. Sam could give the man no certain answer. It was now Friday afternoon; he had an entire weekend to endure before he could approach other businesses for information. Perhaps some of Barnum’s colleagues might know his whereabouts. But he’d not be able to find out until Monday.
He made the most of Saturday and Sunday. He visited Independence Hall and saw where the founding fathers had signed the Declaration of Independence. He spent several hours watching the ships in the harbor. On Sunday, he found a little church to attend. But he couldn’t fully enjoy these experiences knowing that Deborah was sitting in that dismal prison. Every day he was idle meant another day of captivity for his wife.
Early Monday morning he began to walk the streets of Philadelphia. He visited several law offices near Barnum’s, hoping someone might know where the lawyer was. Everyone knew Jonathan Barnum because he was something of a legend among his colleagues. But Sam spoke only to clerks and junior partners. None of the senior lawyers would see him without an appointment, and the earliest one he could get was Wednesday, two days away. He went ahead and made the appointments with a heavy sense of defeat.
Had this whole trip been a waste? Should he have stayed in Texas and continued to pursue Caleb Stoner?
Oh, God! he silently prayed as he walked down the street with tired feet and a pounding headache. I was so certain you were directing me in this. Was I wrong? Show me your will, God. Maybe I’ve been working too much on my own power, maybe I haven’t given you a chance. Well, I give up! I just don’t have what it takes to fight this battle. I gotta have you, Lord! I can’t do it myself!
By one o’clock in the afternoon, most of the offices were closed for lunch. Sam wasn’t really hungry, but he needed a distraction from his hopeless mood so he stopped at a little cafe near one of the law offices he had just visited. He ordered a sandwich and coffee and was about to sit back and read the newspaper when a man from another table rose and approached him.
Sam remembered him as a clerk he had spoken with an hour ago. He was about twenty-five years old, and Sam remembered him especially because he had been of a somewhat different disposition than many of the other brash young city men he had thus far met. He had appeared quieter, more sincere, and had shown true sympathy with Sam’s plight.
“Mr. Killion, I don’t know if you recall who I am—”
“I spoke to you in—well, I can’t remember whose office—but I do recall you, Mr.—” Sam smiled sheepishly. “Except for your name.”
“I’m Robert Allen.” He offered his hand and grasped Sam’s with a firm hold. “I don’t wish to interrupt your lunch, but I’d consider it an honor if you’d care to join me.”
Sam was grateful for the prospect of friendly conversation and was quick to accept the invitation. He carried his meal over to Allen’s table.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking of your problem, Mr. Killion,” said the young man in a soft, earnest tone after they had engaged in several minutes of small talk.
“Please call me Sam.”
“Thank you, Sam. It must be terribly hard dealing with, having your wife in prison. I am a married man myself, and I can imagine what a burden that would be.”
“Sometimes I wonder what I’d do if anything were to happen to her. But I really believe God is gonna get her out of this—well, most of the time I believe that. There are times when I get a twinge of fear.”
“That’s only normal, I suppose. At least you have your faith to carry the lion’s share of the burden.”
“Thank God for that! Are you a believing man, then, Robert?”
“I surely am. But I must say that it doesn’t always make life easy for me, especially in the legal profession. I have to deal with matters of integrity and scruples almost daily. Your situation is a prime example.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, when I spoke with you in Mr. Thomson’s office today, I wasn’t entirely forthcoming with you. In my defense, I felt rather constrained to protect the interests of others. I mean, you were a complete stranger, and though I sympathized with your plight, I felt it would be unfair of me to involve others without their prior permission. I have been wrestling with that decision ever since. I have prayed for wisdom also, and that God would show me if I am to act upon this in any way. You can imagine my incredulity when I saw you come into my favorite restaurant after I thought I’d never see you again.”
Sam smiled. “I reckon that is pretty remarkable. Are you thinking this might in some way be an answer to your prayer?”
“It very well might be. At least, now I feel more certain than ever that I ought to pursue this matter further.”
“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?”
“I see no harm in that. I feel as if you are no longer a stranger. But I must add that my only reluctance now is that I might instill in you false hope. What I have to offer is extremely remote, a ‘shot in the dark,’ so to speak.”
“I’ve had so many ups and downs, Robert, that one more ain’t gonna do me no harm.”
“Well, then, it is simply this: my wife went to school with Jonathan Barnum’s daughter. They are not close friends, because they now travel in rather different social circles. But they have maintained a casual connection through the years as mutual friends. Thus, it is possible my wife could speak to Miss Barnum. Perhaps upon our recommendation she might be willing to tell you where Mr. Barnum is vacationing.”
Sam wanted to jump up and hug the young law clerk. Instead, he gave him a huge, beaming grin. He could find no words to express his gratitude—and his relief.
24
Sam lost two more days trying to see Jonathan Barnum’s daughter. She was understandably dubious when Robert Allen’s wife told her about Sam. Upon meeting Sam and talking with him, however, she came to sympathize with his cause and agreed to tell him how to reach her father.
Unfortunately, Barnum was staying at his fishing lodge in New Jersey, and there was no way to reach him except by mail. Sam figured he could travel faster than the mail, and Miss Barnum gave her blessing for him to go there in person. It would still consume another couple of days at the very least.
First, he had to take the steamer down the Delaware River to a town called Salem. This took most of the day, so he was forced to spend another night in a strange hotel. At first light he mounted a rented horse and, following directions given him by Barnum’s daughter and reinforced again by the man at the livery stable, set out on what he hoped was the last leg of his tedious journey.
The stableman’s dir
ections served him for about an hour. Then he had to make his way by stopping passersby along the road, or pausing at occasional farmhouses. Putnam Creek was simply not the easiest place to find, and perhaps that was exactly why Barnum had chosen it as his retirement retreat. It was a good thirty miles from Salem, and Sam should have been able to reach it in one day; but he had been forced to take many byways to get directions and then had made too many wrong turns. As a Texas Ranger he had successfully tracked Indians in a snowstorm and bandits on a trail several days old and caught his quarry. But finding a city lawyer was proving to be his undoing.
He had to admit, though, that the country in these parts was lovely. Rolling green hills, grassy meadows, woods of oak and maple and elm and other deciduous trees. It was far different from the plains on which he had spent his entire life. There wasn’t a sprig of mesquite to be seen, and everything was so lush and alive. Still, he couldn’t wait to get back home. He missed that dry, prickly mesquite, the yellow grass, and the perpetual clouds of dust. And he missed Deborah and Carolyn and Sky—even that ornery old cowboy, Griff McCulloch. He wanted them all to be together again where they belonged, and for life to resume its delightful monotony. But for that to happen he had to keep on his present lonely path, spending another night in a strange place, and another day—many days, if he had to—searching for the elusive Jonathan Barnum.
A night under the stars, with sweet forest smells all around him, helped to revive Sam’s sagging spirits. He decided that part of his slumping mood had been from staying too many nights in stuffy city hotels, and eating too much fancy restaurant food. Coffee over a campfire, hard biscuits, and fresh fish caught in a nearby stream was feast enough to lift anyone.
By the next morning he was ready to continue his quest. After traveling for about two hours, Sam met an old farmer driving a load of hay to town. The man had lived in the area all his life and knew Putnam Creek well. He also knew the best fishing holes along the creek.
