by Nan Ryan
Austin sighed. “I understand. Your father tells me you’re not interested in attending college in Fort Worth.”
“No, I’m not.”
“How would you feel about a trip to Europe on a big ship?”
“Mr. Brand, my parents certainly don’t have the kind of money…”
“I thought it could be Beth’s and my gift to you for completing your school studies. You know how we feel about you and your parents. My little Jenny is a happy, healthy little girl because of your father. We’re all like family, Suzette. I’d be happy to give you the money.”
“Mr. Brand, I would never take money from you. Neither would my family.” Suzette saw the look on his face and reached out to touch his arm. “You’re very kind, and I appreciate it. But, honestly, I don’t care anything about seeing Europe.”
“There must be something I could do. I’ve got an idea, Suzette.” His gray eyes sparkled. “How would you like to work for me at the newspaper? Blake says you’ve always kept a journal. Perhaps you could write a nice article to interest the lady readers. Let’s see, you could give them new recipes, and tell them about the latest fashions, and—”
“Austin!” Suzette surprised herself at the familiarity, but her hand tightened on his arm. “Austin! Yes, yes! I’d like to write for your newspaper!”
Suzette’s face had taken on some color and her blue eyes were shining. Her perfect mouth was turned up into a smile and the hand clasping Austin’s arm was holding him in a tight, excited grip. Delighted to see the transformation, Austin carefully removed her fingers from his arm, then slipped the arm around her waist, pulling her to his side.
“Sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re interested. It will be good for you to be busy. I’ll talk to your father about it. Tonight you can see if your mother has any special recipes to print, and I’ll speak to Beth at dinner. She’ll help you, I’m sure.” He squeezed her slim waist, then released her.
Blue eyes narrowing just a little, she touched his shoulder and said in an even voice, “You’ve got it wrong, Austin. I’m not going to write a ladies’ column. I’m going to be a reporter. I’m going to write news, real news!”
Austin shook his head. “No, Suzette, I’m afraid that’s impossible. Reporting is a man’s job, and I just can’t allow you to do it. I don’t think you understand what…”
“I most certainly do understand! You think me an empty-headed young girl who doesn’t know…”
“Now just a moment, Suzette,” he interrupted. “That’s not what I think at all. I know very well that you are an intelligent and capable young woman.”
“Then, please, Austin, let me be a reporter. I want to cover the trial of the Indian chiefs.”
“No, dear, I just can’t. Frankly, I don’t think you should even attend the trial. Have you already forgotten about fainting this morning?”
“Austin Brand, that was from the heat!”
“Was it, dear?” His expression was knowing. “We’re alone, Suzette, so be honest with me. You were ill with rage against those savages. That’s what made you faint.”
“That’s not true!” She was shocked that he could read her thoughts so accurately.
“Yes, Suzette, it is true. But I understand, and I’ll tell no one. Listen to me, I’m your friend. Take the position I’m offering you at the paper. Write a nice column. Lord knows you always look lovely, and let’s face it, most of the dear ladies of Jacksboro could use some tips on how to dress. Don’t you agree?” He smiled at her with an easy warmth that made it impossible not to smile back. “That’s much better. I know you’re smart, Suzette. If you don’t enjoy it, you can resign and I promise I won’t be upset with you.”
Suzette was silent for several minutes. He was adamant that she not be a reporter; kind though he was, there was no changing him on the subject. Suzette looked up at him and smiled her most charming smile. “Mr. Brand, thank you for offering me a position at the Echo. Perhaps you’re right. I could write some nice articles on fashion and cooking. I accept.”
Delighted she’d come to her senses, Austin touched her cheek. “The position is yours, Suzette. We’ll speak to the editor of my paper tomorrow and tell him you’re coming on board.”
Suzette, her mind racing, impulsively kissed him on the cheek and said sweetly, “Mr. Brand, with the exception of Luke and Daddy, you’re the nicest man I’ve ever known.”
Grinning at her, he responded, “My dear, with the exception of Beth and Jenny, you’re the sweetest young lady I’ve ever known.”
5
Suzette set herself on a campaign to convince her worried mother and father that she was putting her grief behind her. She proudly announced that Austin Brand had generously offered her a position at his newspaper, The Prairie Echo, and that with their permission, she would like to pursue what seemed to her an interesting and honest profession.
“Sweetheart,” her father said as he put an arm about her slender shoulders, “your mother and I are delighted you are feeling better, but are you certain you want to work at Austin’s paper? Most young ladies wouldn’t be interested in a man’s position.”
“I’m not most young ladies, Daddy, and it isn’t a man’s position. I’m very grateful to Mr. Brand for this opportunity. Please say it meets with your approval. I so need something to interest me!”
Looking from Suzette’s hopeful young face to Lydia’s, then back again, he smiled and nodded. “If it will make you happy, Suzette, you have our approval and permission. However, you will ride into town each morning with me. When I’m unavailable, Nate is to accompany you. You’re much too young to be riding alone, especially with all the soldiers from the fort constantly milling about on the sidewalks near the newspaper office.”
“Your father’s right, Suzette. If you insist on working at that paper, then we won’t stop you. But you are never to go into town alone, no matter what,” her mother added.
It had been easier than she’d hoped. The very next morning, she rose early, dressed sedately, and rode into town with her father, who was bound for Ross Valley, where he would inoculate settlers against smallpox. Austin Brand, immaculately turned out and smiling warmly, was awaiting her at the Echo office on the north side of the town square.
As soon as Blake left, Austin introduced Suzette to his editor, a slight man with greenish eyes, a sallow complexion, a tuft of thin gray hair circling his head, and a smile so bright it transformed his appearance. He clasped Suzette’s hand and pumped with amazing strength. “Miss Foxworth, welcome, welcome. Mr. Brand tells me you’re to be the new fashion editor for The Prairie Echo.”
“I…yes, sir, Mr. Keach. I will work real hard and I know I can learn a lot from you.”
Ben Keach beamed. “I’m sure you’re an intelligent young lady and that you will learn rapidly.” He gave her a small bow, nodded to Austin Brand, and backed away.
Austin’s hand went under her elbow as he propelled her past the noisy machinery to the back of the room, then pushed open a door to reveal a nicely furnished office. He motioned her inside and closed the door behind them.
“There,” he said and pulled out a chair for her. “It’s a little quieter back here.” After she had seated herself in a straight-backed chair in front of a big mahogany desk, he stepped behind the desk and lowered himself into the padded swivel chair facing her. “Suzette, this is my office, but you’re to feel free to use it any time you like. It’s not locked, so when you desire privacy, just lock it from the inside. Be very careful around the machinery. Catch a petticoat in it and no telling what damage it might do—to you, I mean, not the machinery. I can’t caution you too much, dear. Oh, yes, there are soldiers loitering about outside most of the time, and often as not, they have been drinking. You must be very careful. You’re so pretty and I’m afraid…”
“Please, Mr. Brand.” Suzette raised her hand. “You sound exactly like my daddy.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I suppose I do. But, then, I’m old eno
ugh to be your father, so I feel very protective of you.”
Suzette smiled broadly. “Mr. Brand, thirty-six may be quite old for a woman, but not for a man. I don’t think you are at all old. Why, my friends talk about what a handsome man you are. I assure you, they don’t consider you the fatherly type.”
“I’m flattered,” he said with no embarrassment. He was aware of his attractiveness, but he had no intention of telling Suzette that on more than one occasion the very young ladies she spoke of had openly flirted with him, making it known that advances from him would not be repelled. He had never considered satisfying their curiosity. To him they were children and he a married man with a lovely daughter. He ignored advances made by hopeful females of any age, a fact that made him even more desirable. They were puzzled that a man so good-looking could be content with Beth Brand, a woman who, although sweet and intelligent, was no beauty. Tall and much too thin, Beth had a pleasant but rather plain face. Her eyes, hazel and very expressive, were her best feature; they lit up when she met a friend, and held a look of joy when they rested on her daughter, Jenny. When she looked at her big, handsome husband, pure adoration radiated from them.
“I must be going now. I’ll give you no more lectures, but should you ever need me to slay a dragon for you, be assured I’ll be your knight.” Austin stood up and walked around the desk to her.
When he put out his hand, she took it and rose. “Mr. Brand, you’ll never know how much I appreciate this opportunity. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“You’ll do fine. I’m not the least bit worried about you.” He led her out into the noisy outer room where black machinery printed, stamped, batched, clamped, and spewed out the newspaper.
That night Suzette sat cross-legged on her bed and picked up her journal from the night table. She opened the worn velvet book and began to write:
June 16, 1871
It has been almost a full month since my darling Luke was killed by the heartless savages. Oh, how I long to slip unseen into the guardhouse at Fort Richardson and kill the murderous chiefs! I could sleep like an innocent infant with their blood on my hands! I live only to hear the sentence passed down in court that they will be hanged for their crimes.
I am grateful to our family friend, Austin Brand. I have accepted a position at his newspaper and I fully intend to cover the trial without his permission. It’s the only reason I accepted. I can think of nothing duller than writing a foolish column about clothes and hairstyles. How could such frivolous things matter when Luke is dead and the animal responsible is at this minute lying down to sleep right here in Jacksboro. Ladies’ fashion, indeed! The trial of the despicable Satanta is the only thing on earth that matters to me.
When Suzette arrived at the newspaper office the next morning, she carried under her arm several fashion books. “’Morning, Mr. Keach.” She removed her bonnet and pushed back her long blond curls.
“Miss Foxworth.” He bobbed his head and his eyes twinkled. “I thought you might like to learn a little about how all this complicated machinery operates.” He swept his arm out in a wide arc. Proud of the latest equipment Austin Brand had bought for the Echo, he was like a parent eager to show off his new baby.
Suzette stepped closer and nodded eagerly. There were two reasons for her enthusiasm. She had an inquiring mind and was always anxious to learn new things; and she saw immediately how much Ben Keach wanted her to appreciate the clanking machinery that so fascinated him. Suzette gladly gave him the quick response he wanted.
And there was another reason, a strictly selfish one. She intended to make the editor aware from the beginning that she was intelligent, dependable, curious, and competent—and the only person to cover the impending trial. She would make him respect her; he would become a friend. She might even be able to make him forget she was a female. Austin Brand need know nothing of her plans. Anyway, Austin refused to see her as anything other than the pretty young daughter of his good friends. She’d make him change his mind in time!
Long before eight-thirty A.M. on July 5, 1871, when the trial of the Kiowa Indian chiefs was scheduled to begin inside the sandstone courthouse on the square, the small community of Jacksboro bustled with excitement. From all over Jack and Young counties came people intent on witnessing the big event. Never before in the history of the United States had Indian chiefs been tried for their crimes in a white man’s court.
Carts, wagons, buggies, and cow ponies crowded each side of the square. The dry goods store, blacksmith shop, Wichita Hotel, and saloons swarmed with settlers, farmers, and cowboys. Blue-coated soldiers from the fort mingled with gun-toting cowhands; and churchgoing ladies rubbed elbows with ladies of the evening. Eastern newspaper gentlemen, their fashions and their accents drawing amused snickers from the Texans, made their way to the back room of the dry goods store. There they could help themselves from the upturned barrels of whiskey or brandy, a custom of the frontier they most heartily approved.
They didn’t much care for the rowdy saloons, which the tough elements of Jacksboro, that unsavory class of men that even the local townspeople feared, preferred. The saloons were a second home to the local troublemakers, men like the Taylor brothers. Bold thieves, they were mean and ruthless, and decent folk made it a rule to avoid them.
Suzette Foxworth sat rigidly in the back of the family buggy, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. The broad-brimmed bonnet she wore shaded her delicate skin from the harsh rays of the July sun. Fresh and pretty in a pink organza dress trimmed with white lace, her appearance belied the excitement she felt. Knowing that to display her true feelings would be just cause for her parents to keep her home from the trial, she had played her part perfectly. Only the kindly Mr. Keach knew what she was intending.
Suzette’s position at the newspaper afforded her access to a coveted front-row seat in the crowded courthouse on this memorable day. Hastily explaining to her parents that Mr. Keach had told her she could sit in the press section, she left them to their bewilderment and quickly made her way to the front of the room. She took her seat proudly in the all-male press section, stepping confidently past overdressed men from eastern newspapers, most of whom were already perspiring in the withering Texas heat.
The small room was packed. The crowd swelled from the courthouse and overflowed outside. Spectators blocked every window, preventing any possibility of a cooling breeze reaching those inside.
Suzette sat between two tall strangers, her tablet in her lap, pencil in hand, and scanned the noisy, overcrowded room. Her mother and father sat near the back on the left side of the aisle. Anna Norris, who sat between her parents, was waving wildly, trying to get Suzette’s attention. It was then that she caught sight of Austin Brand, hat in hand, dapper in a summer suit of linen, standing against the far wall. He was looking at her, his expression puzzled. Suzette bent her head. He’d understand her presence in the press section soon enough.
A commotion pulled Suzette’s attention to its source. The two Kiowa chiefs, guarded by twenty armed men, burst through the doors of the courtroom. Satanta and Big Tree were wearing blankets and their chains clanked loudly. Accompanied by an interpreter from Fort Sill and their counsel, they marched to the front of the room.
The jury had been impaneled; the district attorney rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation. Every man on the jury wore a gun. While the charges were read, Suzette, her heart in her throat, watched the Indians. Satanta, his cruel, handsome face expressionless, listened to the interpreter plead “not guilty.”
The counsel for the defense, Tom Ball, opened the proceedings with an eloquent speech on behalf of the accused, claiming “the noble red men” had suffered, had been “cheated and cheated and despoiled of their lands, driven westward, westward, until it seemed as though there was no limit to the greed of their white brothers.” Mr. Ball threw off his suitcoat and continued his impassioned speech, finally urging that the great chiefs be allowed to “fly away free and unhampered.”
Suz
ette Foxworth, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest, bit the soft inside of her lip until she tasted blood. When, to her surprise, she locked eyes with Satanta, she saw a faint flicker of approval in his. She quickly looked away. Her eyes swept to Austin Brand. He, too, was looking at Satanta, but in his gray eyes was pure hate. Never had she seen Austin Brand look so frightening; it was as if he longed to snap the Indian’s neck with his bare hands.
Satanta was allowed to speak in his own behalf. At the sound of the deep, resonant voice, the hush in the crowded courtroom was palpable. All eyes were on the handsome chief, who looked unblinking at his armed jury as he spoke: “I have never been so near the Texans before. I look around and see your braves, squaws, and papooses, and I have said in my heart, ‘If I ever go back to my people, I will never make war on you again.’
“I am a big chief among my people and have great influence among the warriors of my tribe. They know my voice and will hear my word. If you let me go back to my people, I will withdraw my warriors from Texas. I will make them cross the Red River and that shall be the line between us and the palefaces. I will wash out the spots of blood and make it a white land and there shall be peace. The Texans may plow and drive their oxen to the banks of the river.”
Satanta paused, his black eyes roving over the crowd. A slight smile lifted his full lips. “But if you kill me, it will be like a spark on the prairie. Make big fire! Burn heap!”
Suzette had never heard anyone lie so convincingly. A natural actor, an eloquent speaker, a magnetic figure, the chief held his audience spellbound. Suzette started to think the unthinkable. Would the jury, knowing he was lying, be afraid of his bold threats of war and let him go free?
Witnesses took the stand. General Mackenzie, the Fort Sill interpreter, and Brazeale, the man who had survived the massacre, told what they knew. Suzette wrote rapidly. After the last one had left the box, S. W. Lanham, the district attorney, rose grandly from his chair. An able attorney, he convincingly reminded the jury, as well as the packed courthouse, that the bloody chiefs murdered the unsuspecting victims in cold blood, butchering and torturing them for no reason, leaving them to die of their wounds; and, yes, even slowly roasting one poor soul chained helplessly to a wagon wheel.
