Foxy Statehood Hens and Murder Most Fowl (The Foxy Hens)

by Paula Watkins Alfred

  The vivid picture made Harriet’s stomach roil, and she shuddered.

  “You were temporarily maddened by the woman’s threats,” Mortimer said. “I’ll hire the best lawyer in the state. Temple Houston, Sam Houston’s son, will be just the right man.”

  Harriet knew enough about businessmen that she could almost see the mental gears turning inside of Mortimer’s head as he continued speaking.

  “Everything I have heard here today can be dealt with, and to everyone’s satisfaction. The fact is, what has happened has happened and can’t be changed, and I’m sure these ladies will agree with that statement.”

  Harriet saw Radine’s eyes widen and knew her friend was going to mention the fact that Charlotte had been in the process of murdering the two of them when her husband walked into the room. But would her protest bring true justice into this melee? Harriet lifted her hand to signal her friend to stay silent and then she spoke.

  “I would agree to testify that I saw Charlotte fly into a similar state,” she said. “But only if you agree to seek treatment for her. When I was still in New York I read a newspaper article about a new science called psychiatry. It involves treating sicknesses of the mind. I think that Charlotte needs what the article called therapy. Perhaps when Guthrie becomes the State Capital, our city will become large enough to entice such a doctor. But until then, I would insist that Charlotte travel each month by train to Kansas City for such care.”

  “Of course, that’s the very thing.” Mortimer’s countenance brightened “We’ll gladly agree, won’t we, Charlotte?”

  It was a moment before his wife answered. “If only that would satisfy the townsfolk I would embrace such a solution. But I fear that nothing will ever be right for us again, because unlike God, people are unforgiving.” She gently touched Mortimer’s cheek. “You have grand plans for a political career in the Territory, and then in the coming new state. My actions have ruined everything. You know the scandal will destroy your reputation along with mine, and you’ll be finished in this town forever. It’s all my fault.” He opened his mouth to speak and she silenced his lips with her fingers.

  “My darling, I know that if I were to disappear, Harriet would hold her tongue.” She glanced across the table. “Perhaps Radine would also be satisfied with such a punishment for me, since it would actually be worse than death.”

  “Hold your horses there, Charlotte. I think that Harriet’s solution is a good one. We’ll stand by you and I think other folks in Guthrie will, too. Most of us have stubbed our toe a time or two. I think you’re misjudging the good folks in this town.”

  “Sweet Radine, you of all people know that what you’re saying isn’t true. If I were a man my past wouldn’t matter, no one would care. But a fallen woman is never forgiven, and her past lives forever. If Mortimer becomes known statewide, as I believe he will, the newspapers will crucify him.”

  “I don’t care what anyone thinks!” Mortimer’s face was chiseled in granite. “I’ll never allow you to leave me because of the opinions of narrow-minded fools. We’ll just pack our things and leave. I can make a good living for you anywhere, and we can easily start over somewhere else.”

  “But the truth always follows you,” Charlotte said in a whisper.

  “And if it does I’ll be there to defend your reputation. If you want to do what’s best for me, you’ll promise never to leave my side. We’ll face this problem together.”

  Charlotte gazed at her husband with such intensity that Harriet looked away so she wouldn’t intrude. Finally Charlotte spoke and Harriet turned again toward the couple.

  “I will always do whatever is best for you, dearest Mortimer.” Charlotte’s eyes seemed like luminous pools filled to overflowing with love and regret and sorrow. “I failed you by not trusting you enough to tell you the truth about my past. But I promise that I will never fail you again.” She kissed her husband full on the lips with such passion that a soupcon of surprise washed through Harriet, who supposed Charlotte must have forgotten the two weren’t alone.

  And then Charlotte spoke directly to her and to Radine. “I hope both of you will forgive me for trying to hurt you.” Before anyone realized her intention, she lifted the glass of wine still sitting on the chest, to her lips.

  “No!” Radine sprang to her feet as she shouted. “Don’t!”

  But Charlotte was already draining the glass. Radine reached her just in time to catch the goblet before it splintered on the floor.

  “Get the doc. She’s poisoned herself,” Radine said.

  Chapter 12

  Radine was standing by Esther’s pen when she heard the back door open. Harriet stepped out to join her.

  “I thought I might find you here. It’s nice to unburden your heart to Esther, isn’t it?” Harriet said. “She’s a very understanding pig.”

  “She is that. I’ve been standing here mulling over The Bad Feeling that I sometimes get.”

  “You had such a spell yesterday, didn’t you? I saw you turn white when Charlotte walked toward us carrying the silver tray.”

  “Yes, I got The Bad Feeling something fierce then. And when she tried to hand me that wine I felt like my Angel Ma was whispering right into my head and telling me something that I had plumb forgotten.”

  Harriet drew in a quick breath. “Indeed? I had similar experience about that same time. I suddenly felt as if I needed to remember something really important. I tried to think what it might be, but I couldn’t. Odd that our minds often work alike, isn’t it?”

  “We’re like matching peas that came out of different pods.” Radine smiled. “I remembered Charlotte tasting her coffee and proclaiming it to be cold. At that same moment I recalled that I had seen steam rising when she filled our cups just minutes before, and knew that she was making an excuse to fetch the wine.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I was trying to remember.” The sun glinted off the gold band on Harriet’s left third finger.

  “I’ve had that very thing happen before. It’s sort of like needing to scratch, but not being able to find the right spot.” Radine frowned. “What I can’t figure out is how Charlotte got the poison into my glass with me looking right at her. I remember that she turned her back for an instant when she poured, but even then I’d have seen her pull a bottle or a paper packet from her sleeve or pocket. And I have a suspicion that the rest of that wine would be just fine, if a body knew how to test it.”

  “I thought so too. So last night I emptied the decanter into a chamber pot for the maid to empty this morning.” Harriet touched the lace ruffle at her throat. “Dr. Johnson wrote ‘death due to drinking contaminated wine,’ on Charlotte’s death certificate, but I was worried that he might wonder why three healthy young women had died within days and all under suspicious circumstances. Now her secret is safe. Ironically, Zachariah thinks this tragedy might actually help Mortimer’s political aspirations.”

  “Ain… Isn’t it a right odd world?”

  “It is indeed.”

  “It hurts my heart to think on Charlotte, and I barely knew the woman.”

  “Poor Mortimer. He kept silent to spare Charlotte’s feelings and unwittingly caused a great tragedy. He mentioned something this morning that I think will answer the question you just asked.”

  Tears filled Harriet’s eyes so Radine bent to scratch Esther’s back while her friend pulled herself together. How could Mortimer possibly know the answer to her question? Radine wondered.

  “Mortimer said he had given Charlotte a ring that had belonged to his great great aunt. It was a heavy gold ring with a large amethyst,” Harriet said.

  “Why my goodness, Charlotte was wearing that very ring yesterday. I thought it was just beautiful.”

  “The ring opened to reveal a secret cache where the aunt sometimes carried her headache powders. Charlotte must have filled the ring with poison and then loosened the catch so she could empty it into your glass.”

  “So that’s how she did it. Don’t that beat
all? I guess some things just need to be hung out to air.” Radine bit her lip for a minute. “I hadn’t meant to, but I’m going to confess how I happened to get Esther. I didn’t bring her on the wagon with me as you probably thought.”

  “You didn’t?” Harriet’s eyes widened in alarm. “She wasn’t stolen was she?”

  “Oh no, nothing that bad.” Radine blew a puff of air upwards toward an errant golden red curl that had escaped from her severe bun. “Delmar Bassett gave her to Ida Mae as payment due for her services. Ida Mae expected cash money and getting a pig instead made her real mad, so she gave the pig to me. I never told you because I feared the knowing might cause your heart to hurt. But now I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Delmar Bassett? My goodness.” Harriet frowned. “Those women have an awful life, don’t they? But I don’t care who owned Esther, I’m just glad she’s ours.” Harriet bent to caress the pig’s droopy ear.

  “I never thought that a really good person could do such a thing as to hold a woman’s head under water until her spirit left her body,” Radine said. “I was ready to hang Charlotte from the nearest cottonwood, and then she ups and sacrifices herself for the man she loves.” Radine sighed. “It’s more than a body can figure. It makes no sense for her to think that ruining Mortimer’s political career would be worse for him than killing herself and breaking his heart.”

  Harriet gazed into the distance and her silence seemed deafening to Radine.

  “You understand why she done… why she did it, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Harriet nodded. “She had faith that his heart would heal over time, and I think she was wise enough to know a man might even be twice blessed with love, but that he had only one reputation. His political dreams would have been forever destroyed. If a man like Mortimer threw away his dreams to do nothing but protect his wife’s name, it would eventually have broken him. Better for him to nurse a broken heart than live with a broken spirit. She really loved him.”

  “Such fierce love almost scares me,” Radine said, awe in her voice. “I believe that Mortimer Hightower will even look different to me now. He’ll be kinda like you in that way. When I look at you, I see the prettiest woman in sight. I see your heart and your spirit and your keen brain-box just shining through. That’s why I love you, and that’s why Zachariah fell in love with you.”

  Harriet gave her such a sad smile that Radine frowned.

  “I believe that Zachariah has a true respect for me. But that’s hardly what a woman dreams about.” Harriet gazed down the alley for a minute, and then looked back at Radine. “I also would like to share the burden of a secret.”

  “You know that you can tell me anything and that I’ll never repeat one word.” Radine watched Harriet take a deep breath, as if she needed to draw in courage.

  “I offered a marriage contract to both of the brothers Garrett. I was drawn to Zachariah, but I knew that being turned down by him would be harder somehow than being turned down by both men together. At Zachariah’s own suggestion they flipped a coin to see who married me. Zachariah called out ‘heads,’ flipped the dollar, and won my hand in marriage by chance.”

  “What kind of coin did he use?”

  “He took a silver dollar from his watch pocket. Why do you ask?”

  “Harriet, if Zachariah took that dollar out of his watch pocket, it was a specially made two-headed coin. He knew beforehand that he would win. Their pa gave each brother such a coin to carry as a good luck piece when the brothers left home for the Territory. Micah has one too, and carries it in that same pocket. He showed it to me at the picnic.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I figured that you already knew about that coin.”

  “No, he didn’t say a word.”

  Radine thought for a minute. “You know what this means, don’t you? The poor man thinks you don’t love him. He probably figures that you married him to provide yourself with a lumberyard manager and with a father to sire your children.” Radine watched her friend’s mouth gape open and her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline.

  “I must go to him.”

  “Yes ma’am, I think that you had better.”

  Harriet grabbed her skirts and turned to run toward the hotel door.

  Radine shook her head and reached over to touch Esther with her fingertips.

  “Esther, you’d better be glad that you’re a pig. Humans are just too complicated.”

  The pig squealed, as if highly distressed by the thought of being human. Radine laughed and scratched the animal’s back.

  “I sure do love you Esther. I’m right glad that we didn’t butcher you for supper.”

  * * *

  Author’s Note: Guthrie was Oklahoma’s Territorial Capital. At Statehood in 1907 the competition between Guthrie and Oklahoma City for the State Capital was intense, so U.S. Congress provided that the Capital stay in Guthrie from 1907 until 19l3. However, the governor favored living in Oklahoma City and in 1910 a disputed election gave the Capital to that city. Late at night, the Great Seal of Oklahoma was transported to Oklahoma City in a Model-T. Legend has it that the Seal was stashed in a bag of laundry and surreptitiously spirited away. Regardless of which version you prefer, this act changed history. The town of Guthrie is preserved in almost pristine condition and a weekend trip to this delightful town is like traveling back to 1889.

  THE RAUCOUS BIRD AND A FELONY TRYST

  Paula Watkins Alfred

  Paula Watkins Alfred is a veteran defense attorney with the Public Defender Office in Tulsa, Oklahoma. From misdemeanors to capital cases, she has handled them all. After doing trial work for a lengthy time, she is currently working in the appellate division. Driven by a curiosity about people and her relish for writing, Paula has recently combined both loves by writing fiction. Foxy Statehood Hens and Murder Most Fowl is her second book. Her creative writing has been honored in state competition. She is a member of the Oklahoma Writers Federation Inc., Romance Writers of America, Tulsa Night Writers, Romance Writers Ink, and Oklahoma Mystery Writers. Paula and her partner, Jim, have one daughter, Sarah.

  Chapter 1

  On that day I lost the three things I trusted most about myself: my beautiful singing voice, my flawless skin, and my fierce bravery. That was the day Oklahoma took her 46th place in these United States. The whole town of Hugo, myself included, felt peacock proud.

  “Miz Myrtle, Miz Myrtle,” I screamed. “Come watch the celebration.” I fumbled at the door, my hands clumsy with excitement. But when I looked inside, I beheld a ghastly sight. The shock of discovering Miz Myrtle Jane Harrington, the woman who had hid, sheltered, and cared for me these two years past, in a most vile and terrible state, brought my heart to its knees.

  My prim Miz Myrtle, owner and proprietor of Daniel’s Fine Quality Goods Founded-1902, sat on the store floor, shirtwaist askew, collar unbuttoned to the fourth button, a sight I’d never before seen. The top of her head aligned directly under the “penny candy” sign. Waist length hair unloosed from the tight bun fell about her face. Her legs outstretched like a doll propped up for a school lesson, and just as lifeless. Someone had placed a dead crow in the middle of her lap, cave-black against the soft yellow of her shirtwaist, the power of the bird’s presence so scary I could scarce take it in.

  When, once again I could focus on Miz Myrtle, it seemed I was knee-deep into forever before I detected the slight rise of her chest from a most subtle breath. Only then did I look into her normally squinty eyes to see that they were opened as wide as a canyon. By the vacuous look in her eyes I concluded that she could not see me. Her color, I’d swear to be whiter than a summer cloud on a blue-sky day. And though I called repeatedly, I could not say if she heard me, because no sound, neither soft nor loud, seemed to penetrate.

  Of all the violations before me, my eyes were drawn back to the vulnerable look of her naked throat, and I felt myself tremble like a bird born new. And strange as it may seem, my mind left that horrible scene and took me bac
k to Miz Myrtle’s harsh retort when I had so tactlessly inquired about her age early in our acquaintance. With a sting she’d said, “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I guess I’ve been living forty-odd years, give or take a few.” At the time I’d thought to myself that one could give about ten years to that forty, but despite having just turned sixteen, I’d had enough sense to keep that thought to myself.

  My memory, however, returned me to the reality of Miz Myrtle’s current calamitous circumstances, though I somehow felt more myself now, and less pure terror. The respite was brief, for I realized that Miz Myrtle was not responsive to my vigorous hand rubbing. Blood had gathered in the corner of her generous lips, and the right side of her face bore a red imprint the size of a smallish fist. Store goods had toppled from their rightful places. The register was open and I saw that the cash drawer was empty. I cursed the store that had such a tight-fisted grip on Miz Myrtle’s affections.

  Given the slightest opportunity, Miz Myrtle would recount for any stranger or friend, how the store had been conceived by Daniel, her recent husband, but to whom she referred as “Beloved.” After a short sickness, nursed faithfully by Miz Myrtle, he’d met a quick death leaving just his widow to care for the store. Only after I had been with Miz Myrtle for some time did town folks confide in me that Daniel was no “Beloved.”