The Hen House

by Sharon Sala

  “Howdy, Carl, what can I do for you, today?”

  Carl Mithers was a small man with thin hair and dark hollow eyes. Like most of the other residents of Denver City, he’d come hoping to find his fortune. Instead, he’d found hardship and hunger more severe than what had driven him out of Ireland.

  “I’ll be needin’ a few things today.”

  “Yeah, like what?” Milton asked.

  “Some coffee and some flour… and maybe some of yer fine beans.”

  “Got any color?” Milton asked.

  Carl ducked his head again. “I lost me poke in the flood, I did, and was hopin’ ye’d stand me for some credit… just ’til the rains be lettin’ up, ye understand.”

  “Your claim is washed out and you know it,” Milton said.

  Carl shook his head. “No, no, t’isn’t true. I’m not one of those pannin’ fer color. It’s just that me claim is on t’other side of the creek.”

  This was news to Milton. It changed his attitude enough to give Carl a chance.

  “I see. Well then, I reckon we’ll give it a try. Just don’t let your debt get bigger than you can handle.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m thankin’ you kindly, sir,” Carl said.

  Milton went about filling the man’s order, while the occupants of the stagecoach were unloading. One in particular, a dandy by the name of Judge Joshua Dean, stepped out of the coach to find himself instantly ankle deep in the mud of Denver City’s main street.

  ***

  The stench of fresh horse manure wafted up Judge Dean’s nostrils as his first foot sank into the mud. He cursed beneath his breath as his other foot sank even deeper.

  “Hey, mister, here’s your bag!”

  He looked up just as the driver tossed his satchel down from the top of the coach, then staggered as he was forced to catch it, himself.

  Muttering beneath his breath about the lack of class and social niceties in this godforsaken place, he made his way to the uneven planks of the wooden sidewalk, trying not to think of the elegance of the life he’d left behind. He had to keep reminding himself of his moral views, and why he was now living in such a fashion.

  He was deep in thought when a man walked out of the doorway in front of him. The man showed no signs of moving, so Dean stepped aside, and as he did, noted the sign on the door, Hair Cuts Here.

  Don’t these barbarians know that’s called a Barber Shop?

  He sighed. There were days when he wondered if he’d ever be able to feel comfortable in such a low-class, plebeian life.

  “I say, sir… where might I find the sheriff’s office?”

  His soft, southern drawl belied the steel of his will and manner.

  The freshly shorn man pointed across the street—across fifty yards of mud and ruts.

  “Of course,” Dean drawled, and looked down at his shoes. They were already ruined. He supposed it hardly mattered that he must tread in that disgusting mess again. “Oh… one more thing, my good man!”

  The man stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”

  “I assume there’s a hotel in this place?”

  “Yep.”

  When the man wasn’t forthcoming with anything more, Joshua Dean was forced to continue their conversation.

  “And where might this hotel be?” he asked.

  The man pointed. “Down yonder on the other side of the gamblin’ parlor.”

  “Thank you,” Joshua said, and shifted his satchel to his other hand before turning in that direction. He’d taken a half-dozen steps when the man from the barber shop called out to him.

  “It won’t do no good to walk all that way down there,” he said.

  Dean frowned as he turned around.

  “And why, pray tell, would that be?”

  “Cause there ain’t no empty rooms. The flood displaced a whole bunch of people. There ain’t no rooms to be had anywhere in town.”

  Joshua Dean arched an eyebrow. It was the only outward sign he gave of his dismay. He eyed the stagecoach and its driver and then made a quick decision and waved him down.

  “I say… when are you leaving Denver City?” he asked.

  “Just as soon as we can get some food and a fresh team.”

  Dean handed him his satchel.

  “Put this back on the coach. I’ll be traveling on with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the driver said.

  Joshua dug a dollar out of his pocket and handed it to the driver.

  “Do not leave without me.”

  The driver pocketed the money. “Yes sir.”

  Having satisfied that concern, the judge eyed the street and the mud. Stifling his dismay, he stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward the sheriff’s office. A few minutes later, and all the muddier for the trip, he was at the door.

  Sheriff Rodney Ham looked up as the door opened.

  “Howdy. How can I help you?”

  Joshua Dean took off his hat.

  “I’m Judge Dean.”

  Rodney Ham stood up.

  “Well now… didn’t think you’d make it in this fast.”

  “Where’s the man who’s waiting to stand trial?”

  “In there,” Ham said, and pointed toward a door behind his desk.

  “What did he do?” Dean asked.

  “Uh… beat up his wife, I reckon.”

  Dean frowned. “Is she dead?”

  “No, but—”

  The judge’s nostrils flared. He looked down at his shoes and the legs of his pants, then back up at the sheriff.

  “Do you mean to tell me that I was summoned all the way out here just because a man and his wife had a fight?”

  “Well, yeah, but you should have seen his—”

  “Sir! It is not against the law for a man to lay hand on his wife. In fact, I believe that it is no one’s business how a man and woman conduct their personal lives within the bonds of matrimony.”

  “Well now… their baby died, too,” the sheriff said.

  Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Did he kill the child?”

  “No, but the doctor reckoned it starved to death.”

  “That is hardly the duty of a husband,” Dean snapped. “It is the mother who’s business it is to suckle her child. If this is all you have to say for this man, then I’m telling you to release him at once.”

  Sheriff Ham frowned. “The people ain’t gonna like it none that—”

  “I don’t care what the people in this godforsaken place think,” Joshua Dean snapped. “I’ve given you my decision. Let him go!”

  The sheriff shook his head as he reached for the cell key.

  “All I got to say to you is, it’s a damn good thing you’re leavin’ because when people find out what you’ve done, they’d most likely be hankerin’ to string you up, instead of old George.”

  Judge Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He’d witnessed the brutality of this country and its people more than once. He had no intention of staying around to witness this outcome.

  “Are you threatening me?” he asked.

  The sheriff frowned. “I reckon you’ve talked enough for both of us. I ain’t got nothin’ more to say to you.”

  He turned his back on the judge and headed for the jail cell.

  ***

  George Mellin was lying on his cot. When the door opened, he sat up. But when the sheriff unlocked the cell and swung the door wide, he stood abruptly.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” he asked.

  Sheriff Ham pointed to the dandy in the other room.

  “That there’s the judge. He said to let you go, so I’m lettin’ you go.”

  George grinned. It seemed his world had taken a turn for the better. He grabbed his hat and bolted, afraid that someone would change their mind before he got to the door.

  “Thank you, sir,” George said, as he moved past the judge.

  Joshua Dean nodded once without ever looking at the man, settled his hat a little firmer on his head, and walked out as abruptly as he’d entered.

  The s
tage driver was loading a trunk onto the top of the coach when he arrived. Without comment, he climbed up into the coach, chose a seat by the window, and then leaned back and closed his eyes.

  The sooner he left this place, the better.

  ***

  The next morning, and unaware of her husband’s release, Alice was cooking breakfast, while keeping an eye on the child who sat quietly in a corner with the quilt pulled tight beneath her chin. Katie answered when questioned, and ate when food was put in front of her, but as yet, had to respond normally.

  Even so, her appearance into the household had brightened Alice Mellin’s outlook on life. She had latched onto the little girl with a ferocity that would have made a mama bear proud, even taking her to her bed last night in case she might awaken in the night with nightmares.

  Alice hadn’t thought once of George, who, she believed, was still sitting in jail awaiting the arrival of a judge. The only thing that was really wrong in her life at the moment was that Baby Mary had yet to be buried. She fretted constantly about the Denver City cemetery, and the fact that it was so close to the rising flood waters.

  Later that day, when Letty made an offhand suggestion to Alice that she might prefer to choose a burial site up on their mountain, somewhere near the trees beyond the house, Alice had jumped on the offer. The flood problems regarding the cemetery did not apply this high up the mountain. Drainage was good, and no longer than the grave would be opened, accumulating water was not a problem.

  Alice had been subdued and tearful.

  “I don’t know as how I’ll ever be able to thank you people for your help,” she said.

  “Thanks aren’t necessary,” Letty said, and gave her a quick hug.

  Eulis had stayed in the background of the conversation, leaving the women to work out the issue on their own, but once the decision had been made, it was Eulis who taken shovel in hand and headed for the edge of the clearing in the back of their house to dig a grave.

  Letty watched him walk away and was struck by how life always managed to come full circle. Back in Lizard Flats, before they’d begun their religious odyssey across the territories, Eulis had dug plenty of graves. In fact, if one ever got dug, he was the man who did it—and all for a bottle of whiskey. But today, it was to ease a grieving mother’s pain.

  The man made her very proud.

  ***

  The drizzle was soft against Eulis’ face as he walked into the trees. Except for the sound of water on the leaves, the forest was silent. He walked slowly, searching the area for a place that seemed proper. It seemed a good idea to dig near a big tree. Even if this child would never grow to climb a tree, or see the sunshine or take relief in the cool, dark shade, it seemed right to lay her to rest here where she might have played.

  He chunked the shovel into the earth, testing to make sure he wasn’t digging into roots. Eulis grunted with satisfaction as the shovel sank easily into the dark, wet earth. He began to dig.

  T-Bone had followed Eulis to the edge of the clearing, and once Eulis stopped, the pup trotted off to do his own exploration. Every so often, Eulis heard him bark, but other than the sound of spade to earth and the raindrops on the leaves above his head, the place was silent.

  He couldn’t imagine Alice Mellin’s distress or sadness, but he knew what it was like to lose his family. He knew how empty and afraid he’d felt when his own had been killed. He’d lived with the fear and loneliness ever since—until Letty. She strengthened him without anything but her faith and presence.

  One hour passed and then another, until he’d managed a decent opening, and was just cleaning up the corners of the grave site when T-Bone appeared.

  “Woof.”

  Eulis looked up and grinned.

  “Hello, to you, too,” he said.

  T-Bone whined a couple of times, and then offered another woof.

  “Yeah, I hear you, but there’ll be no squirrel huntin’ today.”

  T-Bone wagged his tail one more time and bounded off into the woods.

  Eulis glanced back down at the grave, then shouldered the shovel and started back to the house. He was going to have to use his horse to bring the coffin up here. It was too slick and muddy to take the wagon down, but he figured he could tie the little coffin onto the saddle, and lead the horse down the path that stretched from the back of the house.

  He was halfway across the yard when T-Bone came running out of the trees. It took Eulis a few seconds to realize the pup had something in his mouth.

  “Hey, T-Bone. Come here, boy.”

  Now that the pup had Eulis’ attention, he had no intention of giving up his prize. Every time Eulis got close, the pup darted just out of reach. Finally, Eulis had enough. He was tired and wet and still had a baby to bury. Whatever it was that T-Bone had dug up, he could have.

  Finally, he picked the shovel back up and went to the house, but he was too wet and filthy to go inside. Instead, he stood in the open doorway calling Letty’s name.

  She soon came running. Concern etched her face as she saw him.

  “Eulis! You’re soaked clear through. Come in and get some dry clothes.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve yet to go get the baby. Reckon I’ll go now while I’m still wet, instead of goin’ later and ruining another set of clothes.”

  Letty frowned. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

  He grinned. “Letty. It’s me, Eulis. Remember? I’ve passed out and slept in worse weather dozens of times. Remember when them kids back in Lizard Flats doused me with sorghum molasses after I’d passed out drunk. I woke up with ants biting me all over. And the night I passed out in the snow. And the day—”

  Letty rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, okay, I get your point. So, do you want me to go with you into town?”

  “Naw… I’ll just tie the coffin onto the saddle and walk it up.”

  “What about a preacher to say words?” Letty asked.

  Eulis held out his arms and grinned.

  “Won’t I do?”

  Letty sighed. “But we already buried that part of our lives.”

  Eulis frowned. “What would you have me do, plant the baby without saying a single word?”

  Letty shuddered. “I guess you’re right. You say the words over that baby’s grave, Eulis, and I’ll be proud to stand beside you when you do.”

  “Tell Alice I’ll be back soon.”

  “We’ll be ready,” Letty said.

  Eulis winked at her, then stepped off the porch and headed for the small shed where the horses were stabled.

  Within a few minutes, he had his horse saddled and was headed down the mountain into town. His heart was heavy with regret for the circumstances that had ended the little baby’s life, and sad for Alice Mellin who was still legally bound to her brute of a husband.

  ***

  Milton Feasley was trying to sweep the latest collection of mud from the front of his store, when he looked up and saw Eulis Potter riding in from the south end of town. He paused, watching the tall, homely man and thinking to himself that Potter was damned lucky. That wife of his was something of a hellcat, but she was pretty as she could be—and tough. Lord, but that woman was tough. He’d been part of the crowd that had watched her take a bullwhip to George Mellin. And just the other day, she’d stood down that nest of women right here in his store who’d judged her and found her wanting. He’d also heard that she took in Mellin’s wife. It was generous of her, but the way he looked at it, she could afford it. Then just this morning he’d heard someone say the Samuels family had drowned in the flood, except for their little girl, Katie. The gossip was that Letty Potter had taken in the child, as well. He wondered what Eulis thought about all those strange women settling in at his fancy new house, then waved as Eulis rode past.

  “I got them blankets put aside for you just like you asked!” Milton called out.

  “I’ll pick ’em up later,” Eulis said, and continued down Main Street toward the livery stable.

&nb
sp; Milton wondered what the Potters and Alice thought about the judge turning George loose, and then decided it wasn’t any of his business to pass on the news.

  The street was a quagmire of mud. The ruts that weren’t rained out were a good foot deep, and full of water. Even the smelter at the far end of town had shut down for the simple fact that it was impossible to pull a loaded ore wagon through this mess. But the arrival of the stagecoach yesterday had been a delightful surprise. It meant the freighters shouldn’t be far behind.

  Milton gave the sidewalk a last sweep with his broom, then went inside. It didn’t pay to stay out long, what with so many idle people lingering inside his store. Most were pretty hard up, and he didn’t trust them not to pocket his goods without paying.

  He was busy filling the banker’s list when Eulis rode back past the store, so he didn’t see the little coffin tied to the back of the horse. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have given it much thought. Life was hard. Some lived. Some died. It was just the way it was.

  ***

  Eulis met Robert Lee at the far end of town. Robert Lee had come in to purchase some coffee and salt. With mining at a halt all over, he was at loose ends, too. But when he saw the tiny coffin tied to Eulis’ saddle, his smile died.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “I’m takin’ this baby girl up the mountain to bury. Her mama is stayin’ with us for a while.”

  Robert Lee’s voice softened.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Starved to death,” Eulis said shortly. “Her Daddy is the man Letty took a bullwhip to.”

  An odd expression spread over Robert Lee’s face, but Eulis didn’t notice.

  “I heard somethin’ about that man today,” Robert Lee said.

  “Like what?” Eulis asked.

  “That judge they were waitin’ for came in on the stage and told Sheriff Ham to let him go.”

  Eulis frowned. “Gawd… don’t go and tell Letty. She’ll have a big enough fit when she finds out on her own.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “I reckon I’d better be gettin’ on home,” Eulis said. “Still got to have a buryin’ for this little one.”

  Robert Lee glanced at the tiny, rough-hewn coffin, and then looked up the mountain. He wouldn’t let himself think past a baby’s funeral. No need torturing himself about the woman who lived up there.