The Hen House

by Sharon Sala

  No one moved.

  A pair of butterflies flitted through the morning sunlight, landing briefly on the porch rail, before flying off in search of blossoms from which to feed. An eagle appeared just above the treetops north of the house, sending a flock of feeding birds to take flight.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, Robert Lee heard the sound, and at first, thought it was the wind in the trees, only there was no wind. It rose in pitch with the rhythm of his pulse until the pain in the sound pierced his soul. Hearing her grieve like this was almost more than he could bear.

  “Ah God,” he whispered.

  T-Bone cocked an ear toward the door, his nose quivering. When Letty began to sob in earnest, the pup lifted his head and began to howl.

  Robert Lee wanted to howl, too. Instead, he held the reins of Letty’s horse while she went about the business of dealing with a broken heart.

  ASHES TO ASHES

  They dug the grave at the back of the house, in the clearing near the trees, only a few yards from Baby Mary. A steady stream of people had been coming since daylight, filling the yard to wait for the services to start. They didn’t all know Eulis Potter, but they’d heard about what his widow had done to avenge his death. They wanted to see the woman with ice in her veins.

  The women arrived bringing food to feed the gathering afterward, giving them an excuse to go into the fine house. They’d expected more in the way of luxurious furnishings, but still found enough to foster envy. Few of them had ever spoken to the infamous Letty Potter, although they all knew who she was. Today was their chance for a first hand view of Denver City’s richest woman.

  Alice and Letty had shared a moment when they’d embraced in mutual grief, then Alice had washed Letty’s hair, bathed her as if she’d been a child, dressed her in a clean, simple dress and coaxed her into sitting in a chair beside Eulis’ coffin. People filed by to pay their respects, and to get an up-close look at the woman who was now his widow.

  Letty saw none of it—heard none of it—felt none of it. Not the touches of condolence, or the words of sympathy—not even the curious looks. She was gratefully, blessedly numb. It wasn’t until Robert Lee appeared that she was pulled back to the reality of what had yet to be done.

  Robert Lee didn’t speak, but when a small man with a weathered face began nailing the lid on Eulis’ coffin, she grabbed him by the hand. With every blow of the hammer, Letty’s grip tightened. By the time the man was done, Robert Lee could no longer feel his fingers.

  The men who worked in the Potter mine walked single file into the living room, murmuring their uneasy condolences to a woman most of them feared. When Robert Lee gave them a nod, they shouldered Eulis’ coffin and started out the door.

  Robert Lee leaned down and whispered in Letty’s ear.

  “It’s time to go now. Will you let me walk with you, ma’am?”

  Letty looked up.

  “Robert Lee?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We need to go now.”

  “Oh. Yes. Of course,” she said.

  He helped her up and kept a firm grip on her elbow as he escorted her out the door.

  She fell into step behind the coffin without notice of the crowd watching her pass, or of the people who fell into step behind her.

  She was remembering the days back in Lizard Flats when she’d demanded a nightly bath in hot water that Eulis had to carry up to her room—and the night he’d turned himself into a preacher and baptized her in a moss-covered watering trough down at the livery.

  All the months they’d traveled through the territories on the Amen Trail, preaching and singing, marrying and burying, using the false identity of a dead man.

  The nights they’d spent alone on the prairie—and the morning they woke up in the middle of a buffalo herd, certain that was the day they were going to die.

  The fear she’d felt when they got snowed in at the abandoned cabin, convinced that Eulis was going to die from smallpox—facing down a starving wolf, then killing it with a stick of firewood.

  The day she’d discovered the hidden gold mine behind a wall in the cabin, and the shock, then delight on Eulis’ face, knowing that their lives were forever going to change.

  Everything was a jumble in her mind—all the times they’d laughed, and all the times they’d fought, and the days she’d wept in frustration, and the times he was always there to hold her hand.

  As they were lowering his coffin in the grave, she was remembering the tenderness in his voice when they’d exchanged wedding vows, and the first time they’d made love.

  He’d treated her—a fifty-cent whore—like something special—until she’d begun to believe that she was.

  He’d been everything she’d ever wanted. Their time together had been far too brief, but she knew if she had it to do over again, she wouldn’t change a thing—except the way she’d dealt with George Mellin.

  She would never have taken a bullwhip to him. She would have shot him where he stood. Then Eulis would still be alive, and she wouldn’t be wishing she could join him in that grave.

  ***

  With the absence of a preacher, Dr. Warren had offered to read a passage from the bible. Letty didn’t hear a word of what was said.

  In her mind, she was watching Eulis preaching over Baby Mary’s grave, hearing the sorrow in his voice as he gave the final prayer, then watching as he began filling up the hole, letting the dirt fall gently on top of the little box until he was done.

  Someone squeezed her hand. She looked up. It was Robert Lee. She frowned. He’d been at Baby Mary’s service, too. He’d made the cross they’d put on her grave, and here he was again. Eulis had been so certain this man was good. It seemed that he’d been right.

  “Mrs. Potter?”

  She shivered as Dr. Warren laid a hand on her arm.

  “Here, ma’am, please hold out your hands. It would be proper if you drop the first handful.”

  Assailed by the musty smell of damp earth, the scent of green wood, and the stench of death awaiting her blessing, she shivered as he dropped a handful of dirt into her hands. Then she opened her fingers, watching as it fell downward, only to splatter on top of the green wood like raindrops.

  One after the other, the mourners filed past, picking up a handful of earth from the pile, then dropping it into the grave, as she had done.

  She stood without moving until they had all passed, then watched as the rest of the earth was shoveled back into the hole. Once they were done, Robert Lee led her back to the house. Alice had set up a chair for her near the fireplace in the parlor. She put a plate of food in her lap, and then frowned when Letty handed it back to her without comment.

  Alice leaned down until she was eye to eye with Letty, then lowered her voice to an angry whisper.

  “You can’t die with him, so don’t bother to try. Trust me, Missy. I know.”

  Letty blinked. Their gazes locked, first in understanding, then with tears.

  Alice squeezed Letty’s hands and kissed her briefly on the forehead.

  “This, too, shall pass,” she said softly, and walked away, carrying the plate Letty had refused.

  The food that had been brought to the home quickly disappeared as the hungry horde descended on the makeshift tables that had been set up outside. They ate their way through two hours of food and gossip, and then convinced that they’d seen all of the drama to be had that day, went back down the mountain the same way they’d come up.

  Robert Lee had a self-appointed mission of his own. Until Letty Potter came to herself, he was going to make certain she had a life and a business to come back to. He didn’t have to convince the hired hands to go back to work. To a man, they showed up at the mine the next day and fell to working as if they owned the place themselves. Part of it had to do with their pride in working for a woman like Letty Potter, and the other part had to do with their fear of her, and how she dealt with being crossed. Nobody wanted to make her mad, and nobody wanted to see her cry. It was a good arrangement
for all involved.

  ***

  A week into Letty’s self-imposed isolation, her long-awaited furniture from back East finally arrived. Five wagons full of everything from furniture to linens to silverware, and she could have cared less. Letty was sitting on a small stool at the bedroom window. Katie came running up the stairs calling her name. She frowned, angry at being disturbed.

  From where she was sitting, she could see the freshly turned earth mounded over Eulis’ grave. In the back of her mind, she knew he would be disgusted with the way she was acting. She could almost hear him telling her to get up and get over it. Even though she knew that withdrawing from life was not helping her situation, she couldn’t find a reason to care.

  “Letty! Letty! Mama Alice said for you to come down quick!”

  Letty turned toward the door.

  “Why?”

  “Our furniture! It’s here! It’s here!”

  Two things struck Letty. The first was that little Katie, who’d suffered a loss much worse than Letty’s, was already willing to give her allegiance to another woman, and the second was that she’d claimed this house as her own.

  Letty had needed a purpose to face the day. It seemed that purpose had arrived. She got up from the stool and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress.

  “Is that so?” Letty asked.

  “Yes! Come see! There are five wagons full of crates. Mama Alice said we’ll be living in a palace tonight.”

  Letty grinned, and then the moment she did it, felt guilt for allowing joy, no matter how small, into her heart. She followed the little girl down the stairs and then out onto the front porch. The freighters had already tied down their teams and were prying the crates apart.

  The first piece they unpacked was a wardrobe. Letty recognized it as one of the pieces Eulis had picked out. The elaborate carvings of oak leaves and acorns, as well as the red and gold stenciling on the doors looked like something out of a dream. They’d had no idea when they’d ordered the furnishings months ago that he would not be here to see their arrival.

  “Oh Eulis… you were right,” Letty whispered. “The things are truly grand.”

  “Where do you want this, ma’am?” one of the men asked.

  “Upstairs. First room on the right.”

  Up they went, and down they came until, one by one, all the crates were unpacked and the furniture was in place. The china Letty had ordered was still packed and in a crate in the kitchen. It would be up to her and Alice to put it in the cupboard.

  There was also a large stack of linens, including bedding, tablecloths, and napkins to be put away and the large chest of silverware sitting on the sideboard begged to be used. Letty had looked in it twice, still struggling with the reality that this opulence belonged to her.

  Alice’s favorite piece, the wood cookstove, had been set up in the kitchen. The stove and stovepipe were shiny black, and the stove had a warming shelf and a large cooking surface. There was a small, ornate box beside the stove that was meant to hold kindling, and Alice immediately sent Katie outside to bring some in. She had not cooked on anything this fine since she’d left Boston three years earlier, and couldn’t wait to start a fire and cook a meal.

  When they began unpacking the crate with the cooking pots and china, Letty’s enthusiasm ended. The more homey the house became, the more she resented the fact that Eulis would never share it with her. Without explaining herself, she left the room and headed for the back yard. She needed to talk to Eulis.

  T-Bone fell into step beside her. He was growing so fast that Letty could touch the top of his head without bending over anymore. When they reached the grave site, Letty paused, bracing herself for this confrontation. It had been bearing on her mind ever since she’d watched him take his last breath.

  There was a small stump beside the wooden marker bearing Eulis’ name. She didn’t know that Robert Lee had put it there for her, and if she had, would have been puzzled by his continuing concern. Still, she was grateful for its presence.

  T-Bone plopped down beside the stump. Letty sat on it, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Just looking at his name on the marker brought tears to her eyes. She cleared her throat, smoothed down the bits of hair that had come out of her braid, and licked her lips.

  “It’s me,” she said. “I reckon you’re doing fine. Wish I could say the same.”

  A large, fat robin sailed out of a nearby tree and then perched on the handmade cross. Letty frowned.

  “Is that supposed to be some sign that you’re hearing me now?”

  The bird tilted its head sideways, peering at her with a tiny black eye.

  Letty sighed. “Listen to me… I must sound like some crazy woman… talking to a bird and all. Anyway, that’s not why I came. I wanted to tell you that the furniture finally came.” Her voice broke, but she kept on going. “Those pieces you picked out are real pretty. I hate to admit it, but you were right all along.”

  The robin flew out of sight.

  Letty sighed. “I guess it wasn’t you after all.” Then her chin began to tremble. “I’m sorry, Eulis. I’m as sorry as I can be. George Mellin was the man who killed you. If I hadn’t interfered in their life, you would still be alive.”

  Tears were rolling down her face as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

  “I never could mind my own business, could I? Anyway, I wanted you to know that I never meant for you to suffer for what I did, and that the man paid and paid dearly.”

  A breeze lifted the fringe of hair away from her forehead as she briefly closed her eyes. In her mind, she could almost see Eulis standing there, smiling at her in that slow, easy way he had. But when she opened her eyes, the fantasy was gone.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be going now. If you get the time and aren’t too mad, I wouldn’t mind if you said a prayer for me. For a man who couldn’t read all that much, you were real good at praying.”

  She stood then, glancing down one more time at the marker with his name. Her shoulders had slumped, but as she turned away and started back to the house, she straightened her back and lifted her chin. She’d been beaten down, but she owed it to Eulis to get up. She still carried his name, and even if she didn’t want to—even if it hurt her heart every day for the rest of her life—she was going to do right by him and make his name a name of which to be proud.

  ***

  Two weeks came and went and Letty began to resume something of a daily routine. She went into town when supplies were needed, and with some help from her banker, Amos Trueblood, began keeping a decent set of books on her mine, which still showed no signs of playing out. For all intents and purposes, Letty Potter was worth more than she could spend in three lifetimes.

  The flood that had washed all of the gold deposits out of Cherry Creek had long subsided, but new pockets were being found daily.

  For some of the prospectors, it meant relocating a bit farther downstream, and for others, they rediscovered new color on their old claims.

  Robert and Mary Whiteside had finally come down off the mountain, but their fate had drastically changed. Before, they’d been getting color almost every day, but now they had nothing. They’d had to ask for credit at Milton Feasley’s general store.

  Mary had offered the suggestion that they go back to Philadelphia. Instead of giving Robert an excuse to pack it in, it had angered him. He’d taken it as failure on his part to provide for his family, and every day afterward without gold in the pan, he became more and more depressed.

  ***

  Mary Whiteside had awakened this morning with a cramp in her neck and a centipede crawling on top of her blanket. She’d screamed in fright, as much as in anger for being put in such a precarious place. In frustration, she’d told Robert she wasn’t going to the creek this morning, and stayed in camp for the morning to put a pot of beans on to cook. Robert felt sorry for her and offered to go hunting to put some meat in the pot. Mary had pouted her way through breakfast, and when Robert left c
amp, she wouldn’t tell him goodbye.

  Now, hours later, the beans were almost done and Robert still wasn’t back. She gave the bubbling beans a quick stir, then replaced the lid on the pot and looked up toward the woods. Robert should have been back a long time ago. She was on the verge of working up a new fuss when she heard a gunshot.

  “It’s about time,” she mumbled to herself, and hoped he’d shot them a rabbit or maybe a squirrel.

  She waited for a few minutes, but when Robert didn’t appear, she put a couple of sticks on the fire so it wouldn’t go out, and started into the trees. He was probably in there cleaning his kill now. If he had it skinned and gutted, she’d take it right back to camp and put it on a spit. There was a little salt left in the salt sack which would make the meat right tasty.

  Humming to herself, she walked a few yards into the trees and was somewhat surprised when she still hadn’t spied him. Now she was wondering if he’d missed his shot and moved farther away from camp. He’d done that once before and she’d had to spend a good two hours by herself in camp in the dark before he’d appeared. She didn’t want to have to do that again. If he missed his shot, the beans would do fine.

  “Robert! Robert! Where are you?” she called, but he didn’t answer. “Dang man,” she muttered, pausing with her hands on her hips as she squinted through the trees.

  “Roobbberrrt!”

  Still no answer. It wasn’t until a few more minutes had passed that she realized she was the only thing in the woods making any sound. There were no bird calls, no squirrel chatter—even the breeze seemed to have laid. A sick feeling turned in the pit of her stomach, not unlike the night they’d almost drowned in the flood. She called out again, only this time her voice cracked.

  “Robert? Robert?”

  A black snake slithered out of the underbrush and across her path. Normally, the sight wouldn’t bother her, but the anxiety she was already feeling raised superstitions. She watched as the snake slithered away and convinced herself that it was some kind of sign.

  Now that her anxiety had turned to true fear, she began running up the hill, then backtracking the way that she’d come and running west, then east. Up, then down. Backward, then forward, dodging small limbs, while others slapped her face. Wild berry vines, just past blooming, grabbed at her clothes, ripping the homespun, as well as her skin, and leaving stinging droplets of blood behind.