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

by Paula Watkins Alfred

  In my little daydream I hardly paid attention to the voices of Deputy Harris Suggs and Mr. John Bowden. The steady hum of their conversation, so silly in its focus on a woman who would as soon drown herself as to hook up with either of them, sent me back to my favorite memory, one tattered from overuse. Ma, Pa, me, and Sheriff Bob Freedom Smith, Pa’s best friend, the time we went to Chicago where I saw a horseless carriage, a flicker show, and I got to go inside Woolworth’s, full of every delight one could image. Momma bought us matching hair ribbons—pink as a wild rose. Papa held my hand the whole time we walked the streets, so afraid he was that a horseless carriage might go wild and he’d find the need to act quick and save our lives. Sheriff Bob Freedom Smith won a Wild West shooting contest. He gave me the prize—a solid gold piece that shined as bright as sunlight. I was going deeper and deeper into the memory when the shrill cawing of a flock of crows awoke me to my situation. I recalled what Sister Sally had told me, “Donnie, you remember that a group of crows is called a murder. It’s not happenstance that the culprit who attacked Miz Myrtle chose to leave a crow in her hands. He meant to send her a message.” The recollection of Sister Sally’s instruction chilled me more than the wet cold air.

  It was then that I took an honest assessment of my circumstances. I saw that the two men had Prospects and me boxed in on either side. They had veered off the trail to Sister Sally’s house. We were headed into a wooded area dense with foliage. I felt a dark foreboding and an attack of crawlies all over my skin. With a loud clap of thunder a sprinkle of rain began to fall.

  “Hey, now. This ain’t the way to Sister Sally’s.” I laughed as if they were confused and had made a simple miscalculation. I pulled on Prospects’ reins and he obligingly stopped. Unfortunately, both men stopped as well. Deputy Suggs pulled in so tight that his leg was touching mine.

  “Forgot to tell you, Donnie, I agreed to look at a spot of land for Sheriff Baxter. He speculates that the horse thieves who’ve been striking lately use those dense woods as a hideout. I’m inclined to believe that possible, given how dark it is in there.” He nodded toward the thick tree line not thirty feet away, all the while using his fingers to smooth one of the wings on his handlebar mustache.

  I chimed back, looking not at Deputy Suggs, but at Mr. John Bowden in hope of acquiring some much needed support. “Sheriff Baxter’s a good man,” I said. “He’ll understand if you wait until after we been to Sister Sally’s before you check out the woods. Sister Sally is expecting us. Ain’t that right, Mr. John Bowden?” I started to rein Prospects around in the right direction, when once again I noticed the fine stitching on Deputy’s Suggs shirt cuff as he fiddled with his mustache. Oh, no, now I remembered the connection that troubled me. Beloved’s shirts, the ones that I had packed away to give Banker Clyde and his sister more room at Miz Myrtle’s, those shirts had had identical stitching. I remembered that they came from a special shirt maker in Tennessee. Panic took me from not knowing to oh Lord, in the blink of an eye. I didn’t understand what Suggs’s connection to Beloved was, but I knew that any connection to a man like Beloved was probably as true and wicked as Satan’s connection to hell. I believed that things had taken a desperate turn for me. When I looked to Mr. John Bowden, he grinned.

  “No need for pretense. He’s just where we’ve wanted him,” Bowden said to Suggs. Bowden reached out with his fancy gloved hand to grab Prospects’ bridle. My mouth opened but no sound came out. Bowden looked directly at me and continued, “I’ll be sending Sister Sally our regrets. We won’t be seeing her today. Son, you insisted on getting in the way despite my attempts to scare you off. It’s a high a price you’ll have to pay for that mistake.”

  I heard the approaching sound of horse hooves. Sounded like a single rider, but I wasn’t turned in the right direction. Thank you, Jesus. I felt gladness in my body, like awakening from a nightmare to the comfort of my bed. Initially, I felt sure that rescue was on its way. The fact that neither Mr. John Bowden nor Deputy Harris Suggs seemed disturbed by the approaching rider should have told me something. When I turned to look, I saw Beloved’s ghost riding toward us with a grin on his face. After my startled gasp, I felt the release of my morning coffee as it ran down my leg exclaiming my cowardice with its dark wetness, which a sprinkle of rain couldn’t hide. I’d never been so disillusioned and disappointed in my life.

  It was bad enough to know of my impending death, but to greet Ma and Pa with pissed pants was more than I could stomach. I took that opportunity to check in with Sheriff Bob Freedom Smith—not to ask for help, but to tell him of my decision. I refuse to die at the hands of these despicable men with piss running down my legs. Do you hear me? With a nod of his head I felt my insides calm, and the return, thank God, of my wits.

  I kicked the day lights out of Prospects, who like me had decided he had no use for such business. Off we went at a mighty run. I took the opportunity to whoop like an Indian going to war, a trick I’d learned about from reading Indian Territory—World of Frolicsome Adventure. I didn’t look back, but from the silence I knew I had a good start on the two men and one ghost. Once again, I leaned down low on Prospects’ back. This time I yelled “faster” and “faster,” as I tried to avoid the bullets being fired behind me. I headed for the dense woods in hope of buying some time.

  As soon as we hit the woods, out of necessity I had to slow down. I jumped off Prospects’ back, whacked his bottom sending him in one direction, while I hightailed it in the other. When I heard the crashing sound of horse hooves behind me, I leaned myself against the nearest tree and became as silent as a buffalo hunter.

  According to Indian Territory, a buffalo hunter became one in spirit with the grass in order to lull the buffalo into a sense of safety. Following that logic, I went inside my mind and put to myself that I must become one with the tree which supported me. I let my hands feel the rough bark. The wind rustled through the leaves telling me its sound would cover the release of my held breath. The branch that touched my face reminded me to let my body become flexible, to give up all resistance. As I felt the integrity of the tree against the full length of my body, I let a quiet strength swell inside me like life swells in an acorn. I knew in that moment that I could not be seen. Tears of gratitude washed down my face. Sound returned in a flood, the circling and confusion of the horse hooves, close and then distant, until they fell away completely. A loud, insistent woodpecker hammered nearby. I whispered the word “Kiamichi” just to hear the sound of my voice, only to be reminded of Miz Myrtle teaching me how to say it in the proper way.

  “Kiamichi means raucous bird, and legend has it that the Kiamichi Mountains were so named because of a noisome woodpecker.”

  That day we had sat in the Harvey Luncheon and Newsstand eating a plate of livers and gizzards fried to perfection, potatoes and okra, biscuits and butter, and to top it all off, Miz Myrtle bought me a flavored ice. Miz Myrtle noted that it was a shame I was too young to be a Harvey Girl since I was not yet eighteen. We talked about how comely, friendly, and hard working the girls were, including the two who waited on us that day.

  Miz Myrtle had admired the simplicity of their uniforms, the long black dresses, the full white aprons, while I’d thought the high-heeled boots more fetching. I had imagined for a moment traveling the Frisco Railway or Aitcheson, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway by working at the Harvey House restaurants, but after Miz Myrtle explained the rigid rules under which they were required to live, a curfew, no face painting, company designated living quarters, I knew the Harvey girl life would not suit me. So many rules would not allow for the adventures that had drawn me to the Choctaw Nation, lately now, the state of Oklahoma.

  The woodpecker stopped his hammering and I quit daydreaming. Safe in this moment, I reminded myself, it was time to gather my wits from their wanderings. I had a promise to keep to Miz Myrtle Jane Harrington. I might not be a Harvey girl, but I could show myself worthy of her lavish affection nonetheless. I would outwit these men and somehow see them t
o a hard justice.

  Chapter 17

  I allowed my butt to slide to the ground. It felt better than good. I stretched out on the ground with my back against the faithful tree. The ground, wet and cold as it was, seemed to absorb the quakes wracking my body. I rested for a moment before considering my options.

  I could wait until nightfall in hopes that the men would not circle back and find me. Then attempt to sneak back into town. I believed that to be a very poor choice, as I suspected that the outskirts of town would be covered by Bowden’s men come nightfall. Sister Sally’s place was still a good distance. Moreover, it would require me to cross open pastureland where I’d make a fine shooting target. I could wait and hope that Banker Clyde would come looking for me, but I knew that Lucinda May had cornered him into helping with the building of the new school. He wouldn’t even return home until nightfall. My absence during the day would not be suspicious as Lucinda May had seen me leave in good meddle with Mr. John Bowden. Sadly, Lucinda May had no idea of my whereabouts, thanks to our singing of, Blest Be the Tie That Binds.

  Before I could think of another option, I heard men’s voices, the sound of limbs breaking, and horse hooves. They were back. I crawled into a thicket of weeds, laid myself down like a lover, as close to the ground as I could get.

  Suggs said, “He’s a conniving little devil, so don’t underestimate him. Bowden you’d best hightail it back to town and set your men to watch there. Put some men at Sister Sally Sees, the circus woman’s place. Lester and I will continue to hunt for him. Damn it all to hell and back.”

  Bowden yelled that he’d be back as soon as he could to help with the search. We’ll meet at the regular campsite.” I heard the sounds of Bowden leaving. Two thoughts struck me hard. One, that Beloved’s name was not Lester. It was Daniel. And two, I should do the unexpected. That would give me the best chance to survive.

  I raised my head up level with the top of the weeds. I took a deep breath and wiped mud stripes on my face in lieu of Indian war paint. Then I committed my heart to the path I had chosen as instructed by the book. I began to follow Deputy Suggs and Lester, who to my surprise did not separate for a more effective search. I puzzled over this, but could not answer the question to my satisfaction as it made so little sense that my orderly mind could not grasp something so entirely irrational.

  I opened the knapsack of tools in my head and pulled out the one that seemed most appropriate to my new circumstances. Ask another question. How can I best follow Suggs and Lester without being found out? Take off your boots was the answer. And so I did. I left them next to a small tree with foliage close to the ground. In my stocking feet I followed the men whose horses could not have run if they had wanted to, so dense were the trees.

  Once committed to my path I felt alive, more alive than I’d ever felt before. I did not tire, though we trudged through the woods until nightfall when finally the men made camp. I leaned myself up next to a tree while they built a fire, took care of their horses, and set about to make themselves some coffee to go with the beef jerky that I heard tell they carried. My own stomach tightened with hunger. I begged it not to growl and reveal my presence.

  Now what? Fatigue hit me hard, and I knew that I must rest awhile, despite the fact that Mr. John Bowden might ride into camp at any time and find me exposed and unprepared. I dozed and shivered in spurts, unable to warm myself with movement, or even a pile of leaves. My misery grew until sleep was no longer possible. I decided on my next course of action. As soon as Suggs and Lester had gone to sleep, I would untether their horses, releasing one, and riding the other one to my escape. Mounted, I could go get help, while they would be crippled without their horses. I counted myself lucky that Mr. John Bowden had not returned and I only had two of them to deal with.

  “More coffee?” Since I didn’t recognize the voice I knew Lester had asked the question.

  Suggs must have responded with a nod of his head, as I didn’t hear a response.

  Lester began to talk. “Daniel made a mistake by marrying that woman. He didn’t need her for our plan. She screwed the whole deal up. Still can’t figure it out.”

  Suggs said, “I’ll tell you why he married her. Miz Myrtle Jane Harrington was the one who had the relationship with the freed niggers. He knew they’d feel safe coming into the store and doing business with her. Daniel had already burned his bridges with his before-marriage talk against them.” A hoot owl interrupted the short silence before Suggs continued. “Of course, once Daniel married the spinster; he talked like a changed man. Niggers began to trust him as they did her. He was just about to demand land as collateral on the high bills they’d tallied up when his damn heart went bad.”

  I remembered the first conversation that I’d had with Bowden who had insinuated that Miz Myrtle’s dealings with the Negro freedmen would cause the store to fail. Now, everything made more sense. I had never understood the value of an old mercantile store. Miz Myrtle made a living with it, but these men wanted to be wealthy, not just make a living. They were out for the rich bottom lands the Freedmen owned. With the Frisco Depot handy to transport farm goods, a land-rich man could make a fortune. I swelled with anger at the thought that these men were willing to destroy so many lives for nothing better than some gold in their pockets. They wanted the store as a foreclosure tool!

  Lester spoke again, “I know the old girl thought I was Daniel, I seen the terror in her eyes. Too bad the hard beating you gave her was interrupted by that boy. Still, I would have bet good money that your threat to kill the boy would have done the trick. Instead, the dumb ass woman lost her mind. We should’ve shot her when we had the chance. We could have managed the boy.”

  I wondered if Lester spoke with the same voice as Beloved. If so, that must have shook Miz Myrtle to the core. Shut of that bad man, she’d come to life before the assault. Now--? She’s getting better I reminded myself. I’ll not let these men defeat her. The thought of what she’d suffered out of love and concern for me brought added strength to me. I no longer felt the cold. The cold was irrelevant. It was time to fulfill the promise I’d made to Miz Myrtle, nothing else mattered.

  I waited for a long time, until the fire died down and I heard snores, before I made my move. I inched my way toward the horses, praying that they would not get restless and scared. The roan was closest. I loosened his rope from the wood stake without alerting the sleeping men. As I reached for the rope of the gray, both horses rebelled against my plan and began to neigh and whinny in panic.

  I heard a, “Son of a…” I gave up all pretense of silence. Yelling the war whoop at the top of my lungs, I managed to jump over the gray’s back. My head dangled and bobbed on one side of his belly and my feet flopped on the other side. This was not the best way to ride, still I hit his sides and he began to gallop away from the camp rounding trees with gusto. Flying bullets carried one hell of an inspiration.

  As we made our getaway, the gray and me, I heard Suggs yell for Lester to get out of the damn way. My head flopping against the side of the horse did not stop me from hearing the barking of a dog. From my unfortunate position I could not guide the gray, and in any event had no idea where to guide him. I continued to hit his side yelling, “Giddy up,” at the top of my lungs. A dog burst through some trees running toward us fast. I recognized Old Red Hound just before I was thrown to the ground when all thoughts ceased.

  Chapter 18

  “Why didn’t you tell us who had assaulted you Miz Myrtle?” I asked. Miz Myrtle, Banker Clyde, Lucinda May, Sister Sally Sees, Sheriff James Winston Baxter, Doc Watkins, and myself had gathered at the dining table where Miz Myrtle once again reigned. The future felt bright as I looked upon Miz Myrtle in a shirtwaist so stiff with starch that it could surely cut corners.

  Miz Myrtle sliced generous pieces of the molasses cake that she had baked just for this gathering. “No need to explain myself repeatedly,” she’d said when Sheriff Baxter first began to question her after Bowden, Suggs, and Beloved’s twin, L
ester, had been jailed. “I’ll tell it once tomorrow morning over a fresh molasses cake, then we’ll speak of it no more.” She’d sent me around to make sure everyone knew of the one opportunity to satisfy their curiosity. Miz Myrtle was all for living in the present moment, especially given that the recent past had been so difficult and painful.

  She handed a slice of cake to Banker Clyde, who had the good manners to wait until the rest of us were served before sampling a taste of what I knew would be divine.

  “Plain and simple,” Miz Myrtle turned her gaze on me, “I thought Beloved had come back from the dead when Lester entered the store with John Bowden and Deputy Suggs. The very sight of him rendered me helpless. Suggs had an easy time of it with me. He took such pleasure in assaulting me and poor Old Red Hound that I believed he would murder Donnie simply for the thrill.”

  The dog having heard his name lifted his head as if to take a bow before he decided it wasn’t worth the effort and went back to sleep. His gentle snore sounded like delicious comfort to me. “Suggs told me that he’d kill you, Donnie. You so young and full of promise, not having done a thing but wander into my store and ask for work. I love you like the da…” Miz Myrtle caught herself, “like the son I’ve never had.” Miz Myrtle paused to wipe her eyes with her sensible handkerchief. “I could not risk your life, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn over the store and betray my Freedmen friends. I had figured out Beloved’s plan right before his death when I saw the way he segregated the Freedmen’s bills from everyone else’s. He was a stingy man, yet was more than willing to extend credit to them. The only thing the Freedmen had, that he could have possibly wanted, was land.” Lucinda May handed Miz Myrtle a steaming cup of tea. She took a sip then continued. “I thought by acting incapacitated I could buy some time so that I could figure out a solution. But, of course, none came, and they began to push their hand by tossing that poor dead crow through my window.” Miz Myrtle nodded to Lucinda May to take over the cake cutting so she could focus her attention on the story she was telling.