by Jim Cox
“I saw you come in and thought I’d eat with you if it’s okay,” Mr. Smith said. Thomas gave his approval with a wave toward a chair. Mr. Smith continued, “Thomas, why don’t you call me Walt? That’s what my friends call me.”
After their meal of steak and potatoes, Walt asked, “I’ve been thinking about your story, Thomas, and I’ve watched you leave the hotel every day trying to find leads. Have you found any?” Thomas explained his activities so far. The investigation at Virginia’s old home, the school search, and going to the courthouse.
“What’s your plan now?” Walt asked.
“I thought I’d go to the police station next and then to the hospitals.”
Walt nodded. After a pause, he said, “Do you mind if I help out a little? I have an acquaintance who is like a bloodhound when it comes to finding people or information. He’s helped me out several times in the past.”
“Thank you, Walt. I’d appreciate any help you can offer.”
Walt picked up his coffee cup and took a swallow. “Give me their descriptions, Thomas, and any other information you feel might be relevant.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Days passed as Thomas checked out the police stations and four hospitals, but nothing turned up. It was starting to feel as though his family had disappeared into thin air.
Thomas and Walt had made it a point to eat together from time to time to discuss any progress in the hunt, but both men were coming up empty-handed.
The next plan had taken Thomas from business to business where he asked each employer about their current workers and about those hired within the past fifteen years. It was a slow process. After four weeks, the search ended without him finding any clues to his family’s whereabouts. His discouragement deepened.
Two days later he started going from house to house in one of the poorer neighborhoods of town, but folks were uncooperative. Many wouldn’t answer his knock. Thomas soon came to the realization a house-to-house hunt was a hopeless task, like searching for a needle in a haystack.
After giving up on the house-to-house search, Thomas loafed around the hotel trying to determine what he should do next. Shortly he came to a decision. It’s time to go home. I’ve given it my best, but I’ve had no luck, and I might as well admit it.
It was mid-afternoon. Thomas sat with cup in hand, considering his next move. Minutes later, he rose, left a half-filled cup on the dining room table, and went outside to the hitching rails. He mounted Dancer and headed for the telegraph office to inform the Double D he’d be coming home in a few days.
Over breakfast the next morning, Thomas explained to Walt he’d given up, that he’d not found any potential leads except for his daughter’s four-day attendance in the first grade. As much as he hated to return to Colorado without his family, the time had come to return to the ranch. Walt nodded. The men finished their meal with very little conversation. Afterward, Walt stood, shook Thomas’ hand, and left. Thomas hung back for another coffee. His travel plans back to the Double D filled his mind.
He was about to go to his room when a man walked up. He was a good sized man in his mid-thirties wearing threadbare and wrinkled clothing. “Are you Thomas Albright?” he asked.
“Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I ain’t ever met you, Mr. Albright, but I’ve been looking for your family. Mr. Smith put me on the trail several weeks ago. It ain’t been easy, but I think maybe I’ve hit upon something. I was supposed to bring anything I found to Mr. Smith, but they told me he left the hotel a few minutes ago, so I came direct to you.” Thomas’ heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t have any first-hand information, but a close friend of mine said he knew of a family meeting the description. He says there’s a mother, a daughter, and a son. The kids are in their middle to upper teens.” The man paused a bit and then continued, “They moved here from Colorado several years ago, but Baltimore was where the mother was born and raised. I asked the man to follow up on the matter and get back in touch with me. It ain’t a for sure thing, but it looks promising. I’ll be back in a day or two with more information.” After the man left, Thomas hurried to send a wire to the Double D, telling them to disregard his last message. He wouldn’t be coming home just yet.
Later in the day, a knock startled Thomas from his day-dreaming. His thoughts had been on his last three months in Baltimore and how it all ended. Looking around, he realized he was still sitting in the comfortable chair by the window where he had sat down hours ago.
Thomas opened the door to his room and saw his visitor was the man who had spoken with him during breakfast—the man with the lead about his family. Thomas invited him in and offered the man a chair.
“Do you have some new information?” Thomas asked, with excitement in his voice. “What have you found? Do you know where they live?”
“I ain’t got that far, but I think I located the girl.”
“Was she in school…does she have a job some place?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, sir…she has a job. She’s a barmaid over on Washington Street in a place called The Manly Tavern. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a rough hangout for men. She serves drinks from seven thirty in the evening till two thirty in the morning.” Thomas was bewildered. He couldn’t believe a daughter of his was a barmaid.
“She’s only seventeen,” Thomas blurted out. “She’s not old enough to work in a tavern.”
“That ain’t true around here, Mr. Albright. Many a girl starts working in ’em when they’re only fifteen.”
“Can you take me to the tavern?” Thomas asked. “I want to be there when she starts working this evening. I want to get her away from that place.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Mr. Albright. It’d be okay if you go to the saloon and get a look to confirm she’s your daughter, but don’t let on you’re her pa. First, let me follow her home so we can get her address. Once we have that, you can make arrangements to talk with her.” Thomas thought on the matter for a long minute and nodded his agreement.
Dancer’s iron shoes gave a clip-clop sound as he walked down Washington Street’s cobbled bricks toward the tavern. It was a little short of eight o’clock. Nighttime had come early because of the dark swirling clouds overhead which caused most of the street lights to have been lit early; on two occasions Thomas had seen the lights being lit by men walking on stilts, carrying a torch.
The clouds were bringing a chilly, damp breeze, indicating a snow shower might be on its way. Thomas pulled his coat collar up as he traveled down the street looking for The Manly Tavern. It wasn’t long before he heard loud voices and someone playing a piano. Shortly thereafter the tavern came into view. Thomas remained in the saddle for a couple of minutes when he rode up, observing the men entering the saloon. They were a rough-looking lot. Several had the appearance of seamen with tattoos and earrings. Many of the men’s coats bulged in the shoulder, which probably meant they were carrying pistols.
Thomas swung down from the gelding, tied him to the rail with a double knot, and entered the saloon through double doors. He stepped to one side and stood against the wall, letting his eyes adjust while he observed the goings-on. It seemed as though everyone was talking at once in loud voices, and their language was filled with cursing. Above the noise was the sound made by the man banging on the piano.
Almost as distracting was the thick smoke and odor of cigarettes and cigars, along with the smell of beer. Wet stains were scattered about on the floor, more than likely caused from spilled beer. As Thomas stood against the wall, every eye in the room turned toward him. He assumed it was because of his western dress and him being a stranger to the establishment.
It wasn’t long before a man at a nearby table motioned him over. “Have a seat,” one of the men said as Thomas approached. Thomas slipped into an empty chair.
“What’s your name?” another man at the table asked.
Thomas had to think fast. He didn’t want to give his name because it might get
associated with his daughter. “My name is Jug…at least that’s what I’m known by.” The circle of men introduced themselves, but Thomas wasn’t listening. His eyes and mind were on the barmaids.
“My glass is about empty. Let’s have another,” the man sitting beside Thomas said, waving to the closest saloon girl. She finished serving the beers to the table she was at and then responded to the man’s call.
“This here is Sally, Jug,” the man who called her over said. “She’s kind of new to the tavern.” He turned to the girl and asked, “How long have you been working here, Sally?”
“I’m in my second month,” she answered. Sally was a small, thin girl with large brown eyes and dark hair. Her pink dress had a low neckline and flared out from her waist to her knees.
“How old are you, Sally?” Thomas asked.
“I turned fifteen two months ago,” she answered proudly.
She’s younger than I thought. That explains why she’s so thin and flat chested, Thomas thought.
“Where’s Mary tonight?” a man across the table asked. “She normally waits on us.” Thomas flinched.
“She’s here. I’m only taking care of her tables for a few minutes. She’ll be back soon.” There was a pause. “What can I get for you men?” They ordered another round of beers, five in all.
Several minutes later a different barmaid brought the drinks. She was tall with black hair piled high on her head. Her height was accentuated by high-heeled shoes. She had large brown eyes. Her cheeks and lips were painted red with the new facial cosmetics that had become popular among some of the bar ladies. Even though she was young, she had a womanly body with curves in all the right places. Her dress neckline was low, showing a great deal of cleavage which caught the men’s eyes as she leaned over to serve their drinks. When she straightened up, the man beside Thomas said, “This here is Mary Albright, Jug. She’s been working here for nearly two years…waits on our table most of the time. Ain’t she pretty?”
Mary smiled and said, “Is there anything else I can do for you men?”
“Yeah,” said a man across the table. “You can go to my place with me tonight.”
“I only serve drinks,” Mary said sternly. “I’m not a prostitute.” All the men at the table laughed except Thomas. As Mary turned to leave, the man across the table reached out and patted her behind. She continued walking without reacting. The man turned back to the table with a wide grin. Thomas could hardly contain himself. He wanted to reach across and belt the man for abusing his daughter, but he sat quietly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
As arranged, Thomas met the man who’d given him the information about Mary in the hotel dining room for breakfast the next morning. The meeting had been set for seven o’clock, but Thomas was already on his third cup of coffee when the man showed.
“Did you find out where they live?” Thomas blurted out when he saw the investigator coming across the room. The man didn’t answer until he reached the table and took a seat.
“Yes, sir. I followed her home like we planned. She lives in a boarding house three blocks south of the tavern. There was a sign on the house identifying it as HARLEM STREET BOARDING HOUSE with an address of 1687 Harlem Street.” Thomas was all smiles.
The investigator let a minute or two go by and then continued his remarks about the house. “Mr. Albright,” he said, “don’t be surprised when you get there. It’s a run-down neighborhood and the boarding house ain’t any better. I’d say they ain’t doing very good, money wise, or they’d be living in better conditions.”
Three hours after the man left, Thomas tied Dancer to the tie rail in front of the boarding house. He stood for several minutes taking in the sight. The investigator was right, Thomas thought.
The house and neighborhood are terrible. He was walking on a dirt path toward the front door when a burly-looking man came out. The man was in need of a haircut and bath, along with clean clothes. His shoes were totally worn out. The heels were gone, and the man’s left big toe was exposed.
“Can you direct me to Virginia Albright’s room?” Thomas asked.
“She lives in three-o-three, but she ain’t home. I imagine her daughter might be up there, but she’d be sleeping. She works past midnight at some tavern a couple blocks from here, serving drinks and teasing the men…she’s a looker.”
Thomas eyed the man and then asked, “Can you tell me where Mrs. Albright might be?”
“She’s working in the chicken plant—won’t be home till six.”
Thomas was stunned. My daughter works in a saloon and my wife works in a chicken slaughter house.
“Can you tell me where the chicken plant is located?”
“Sure…it’s three blocks north and two blocks east of here.”
Thomas had started for Dancer but turned back with another question for the man. “Do you know where Tommy might be? Is he in school?”
The man laughed. “No telling where the boy is, but one thing’s for sure…he ain’t in no school.”
“What do mean, he’s not in school? He’s only fifteen,” Thomas said.
“He ain’t been in no school as long as I’ve known him. The boy runs with a gang and stays ahead of the law most of the time.”
Thomas could smell the chicken plant a block before he got there, a putrid odor of scalding wet feathers. After tying Dancer, he went inside where he was taken down a hallway to a back office. “Have a seat,” the man sitting behind a desk said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Finally, the man looked over the tops of his eyeglasses and asked, “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Thomas Albright. I’m here to see my wife,” he said in a firm tone.
“And who might your wife be?” the boss man asked.
It was obvious the man didn’t know his employees, so Thomas gave him a few details. “She’s a fifty-two-year-old woman. Her name is Virginia Albright. I was told she works here.”
The boss man eyed Thomas for a long minute and then said, “I’ll have one of my men bring her to this office, but you’ll have to wait till her noon break. We pay ’em by the day and need to get at least ten hours of hard work out of ’em.” The man removed his pocket watch and flipped it open. “She’ll be off in fifteen minutes,” he said. “You can wait in here if you want.” Thomas nodded his appreciation.
“Would you like to look at the chickens being handled?” the boss man asked. Thomas rose, expecting to be taken into the work area, but instead, he was directed to a cabinet door in the back wall. When the boss man opened the door, a window exposed cooped-up chickens, the workers, and all of the plant’s equipment. “See those red chickens. They’re Rhode Island Reds,” he said. “The white ones in the coops next to them are Plymouth Rocks, and the black and white barred ones are called Dominickers.”
The boss went back to his desk, but Thomas continued to stand at the window. He recognized none of the workers. As he stood gazing into the work area, he figured out the work pattern of processing the chickens. First, a man grabbed three to four chickens in the coop by their legs and handed them to men who placed the chickens’ feet in suspended hooks five feet above the floor. After slaughtering, they were left hanging for a couple of minutes before being thrown into barrels of steaming hot water. Minutes later the chickens were fished out with long hooks and laid on tables where women pulled out the feathers.
Thomas was still standing there when the noon whistle blew. He stiffened. His anticipation grew as he watched a man exit the office area to fetch Virginia. The man went directly to a table of women eating their noon meal. Thomas saw the man lean over and talk with a woman who, after a short discussion, rose and walked with him.
Thomas was uneasy, he was nervous, and he didn’t know what he was going to say. After three months, I’m still not prepared, he thought.
The office door opened. A woman stepped in. Thomas was heartbroken. He hardly recognized his wife. She looked twenty years beyond her age. Her face was wrinkled, and h
er gray hair was pulled back in a bun. Her large brown eyes were sunken back into dark holes. They were dull, lifeless eyes—eyes without hope, without a future. Her hands were bright red, probably from the scalded wet chickens she had been handling. Her dress and apron were spotted with blood. She smelled like wet feathers.
Thomas started. “You may not recognize me, Virginia, but I’m…” She cut him short.
“I know who you are. What do you want, Tom? What are you doing here?”
There was a long silence. He didn’t know how to answer her questions, so he went directly to the reason he had come. “I came after you and the children, Virginia,” he said with a firm voice. “I want to take you back home to Flat Peaks. I know I treated you terribly the last couple of years we were together…no words or actions will ever compensate for how I treated you, but I want to try…I want you back.”
There was silence.
Finally, he added, “I haven’t had a drink for several years, Virginia, and I’m committed never to let myself get pulled down again. I live a respectful life again with a family who took me in and nurtured me back to a healthy lifestyle.” Thomas paused, wiped his eyes, and then continued, “I’ve thought about you and the children every day since you left me, fifteen years ago. I’ve tried to forget you, but I can’t. I love you, Virginia…always have, and I believe I always will, no matter what you think of me.”
She looked away for a few seconds and then returned her stare. “You made the trip for nothing, Tom. I won’t go back with you.”
“But Virginia, this is no way for you to live. There’s a better way of life waiting for you back home. You don’t need to pluck chickens.”
“Plucking chickens is a better way of life than what you provided fifteen years ago in Flat Peaks.” She turned and headed back to the chickens.
