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

by Paula Watkins Alfred

  She nodded. “I think that’s an accurate census. Have you been here before?”

  “Yes, once. Several weeks ago.” A frown creased the tan skin of his forehead. “I have… uh… family in the area.”

  He wasn’t a drifter then. Not if he had family that he was visiting. Maybe he had come to live with them? Or with a wife and children? Maybe he was married. He hadn’t said what family he had here.

  Anyway, he wouldn’t be leaving town right away, perhaps. Maybe she would be seeing him again? She took a deep lungful of air and let it out. She realized that for some reason she’d been holding her breath. She looked down to watch the shining metal rails pass beneath the feet of the big horse. They were the only thing in the whole town that looked really solid and permanent. Everything else looked thrown together out of bits and pieces of wood and tin and a few panes of glass, but the railroad tracks showed that Tulsey Town was here to stay, that it was connected with all the other towns in America. She could ride all the way to Boston, or maybe New York City, starting from right here in this spot in Indian Territory. She felt a rush of warmth for the little place, a tinge of pride that she’d discovered the place all on her own… or almost.

  In a day or two she just might be able to persuade this Bartlett Starr to go back across the river with her to pick up her trunk and then maybe he’d carry it on to her Aunt’s house in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. They’d need a wagon for that. In a wagon she wouldn’t be sitting in his lap anymore, nor leaning against his broad chest. That idea caused a tiny stitch of regret. Sitting across his lap had been so comfortable, so exciting.

  Or maybe she’d decide to stay in Tulsey Town for a while longer. She was her own boss now, after all. Fancy free. The thought caused her to gasp with pleasure. Yes. Maybe that’s what she would do. She’d take a day or two to make up her mind. Ugly and new and barren as it was, something about this raw looking village appealed to her.

  Maybe she could start a business and make some friends and even build herself a little house. Why not? She’d have to think about all that. She’d take it one step at a time.

  When she felt Starr give Ringling a pull back on the reins she quelled just a touch of sadness. She’d probably never see him again.

  “I surely do thank you, Mr. Starr. I don’t know if I’ll be seeing you again?” She let her voice lift with a question. She turned her face away from him and toward the hotel where she would be staying until she found her own place. The two-story white clapboard building seemed large. Too large. She felt a prickle of fear at the thought that she would be staying there. What did people do in a hotel?

  “What if they don’t have a room for me?”

  “Oh, they’ll have room, ma’am. They have four bedrooms upstairs and two down, plus the kitchen and the lobby. You’ll find a good place here.”

  “Have you stayed here?” She sat still in his embrace, unwilling or unable to slide down to the ground. And he didn’t dismount to reach up for her as he had before. She’d wait another moment. Maybe he’d get down and then reach up for her waist and loft her to the ground just as he had down before. She looked down at Ringling’s restless prancing feet. They seemed huge and the distance to the ground seemed overwhelming. Was she going to have to get down by herself?

  She felt him moving, sliding down on the left. He walked around and lifted his hands to clasp her waist and slowly lower her to the ground, her body against his. His eyes engaged hers as he let her slide against him. Eula Mae glanced again at the hotel and then back up into Bartlett’s dark gaze. He was still holding her close. She didn’t try to step away.

  “Would you go inside with me to be sure they have a room?”

  He nodded and looped Ringling’s reins over the thin log that lay waiting on two Y shaped branches making a hitching post for customer use. They walked up the path, onto the porch of the building and into the open door. It was dark inside the big room. Eula Mae waited for her vision to adjust. When she could see, there wasn’t much to look at, a few chairs, a table and not much else. No person was there to greet her.

  She lifted her chin. Nothing so very frightening here. She had to quit hanging onto Bartlett’s shirttail and let him get on to his family’s house. She turned and shook his hand.

  “I’ll be all right, now,” she said, “Thanks for coming in with me.” She smiled up at him. Would she ever see him again? “And thanks for the ride.” She held out a fifty-cent piece she’d placed in her skirt pocket earlier. “I promised I would pay you.”

  Starr put up both his hands as if warding her off.

  “No pay required, ma’am.” He backed away, laughing as he went.

  ”Regards to your family,” she called when he turned to step back onto the hotel porch.

  He nodded and disappeared from her sight. Smelly, but nice, she decided. She was glad he’d refused the coin she had offered. She’d need to hoard every cent she had until she could find work of some kind. If she stayed in this boarding house they would expect fifty cents from her for her room and board every day, according to their sign. Living in a town could get real expensive.

  Chapter 5

  In the upstairs room, Eula brushed her hat with the crash linen towel furnished by the hotel. She lifted out the false bottom of her reticule and the knotted handkerchief which held her hoard of coins, ten silver dollars, fourteen half dollars, and six quarters.

  “Eighteen dollars and fifty cents,” she whispered, then replaced the money, the handkerchief the money was wrapped in, and the false bottom in the velvet purse, before she brushed the reticule with the same towel she’d used on her hat.

  The fifty cent piece, a quarter, eight dimes, two nickels and fourteen pennies, which she thought of as her “spending money,” she also counted and replaced within her Granny’s tiny old leather coin purse.

  “Not much spending money. I’ve got to find a job and a cheaper place to stay,” she murmured after she’d put the room’s only chair under the doorknob. The door was locked but she couldn’t help noticing that the man who’d opened her door had used the same key for every room they’d looked at. She’d chosen the smallest, the least expensive, “Two bits without meals,” the man had said, but she was desperate to sleep. It seemed days since she’d been able to close her eyes. She’d been afraid to try to sleep when Mr. Montmorcey had camped out that one night on the trail. She’d dozed but she hadn’t really slept soundly. Montmorcey’s snores had helped keep her from falling over into real slumber. She’d need to find the sheriff soon and report on Montmorcey’s theft of her money and his mistreatment of her luggage.

  She ate the fried chicken neck, head, and feet, from her sack, along with two small tomatoes and a biscuit Montmorcey had missed. She washed her teeth and her face and hands with water poured into the bowl on the dresser and she dried with the towel she’d used to freshen her hat and purse. She hung her calico dress across the iron headboard of the narrow bed, then took her worn flannel nightie from her portmanteau. Tonight she would sleep. Tomorrow, rested and energetic, she’d start her new life, whatever that might turn out to be.

  A man’s voice woke her very late in the night. What was that he’d said about Sweet Jud and Willadene? The loud talker had moved on to one of the other rooms and Eula fell back into the depth of sleep much like a stone thrown into a deep pond.

  She woke with the sun in her eyes, her mind made up. She would stay in Tulsey Town. As she lay abed, she mulled over her options. I can read and write, I know “healing” from Granny, and I can sew, not to mention the skills that all women appeared to have. I can cook, clean, wash and iron. There must be something in all that to allow me to make money right here in this village.

  The last biscuit furnished breakfast. Afterward, Eula Mae took great care with her hair and her calico dress. Today she must look her best. She was determined to find work. She settled her hat just so, pinned it to her topknot and slipped the velvet pouch purse over her wrist.

  A quick survey of Main Street led he
r to the largest of the four general stores, the largest building, but the one most sparsely furnished with merchandise. Maybe she’d found her place, she thought. Boudreau General Merchandise, the sign outside gave her a name to use.

  “Mr. Boudreau, my name is Eula Mae Kent.”

  “What can I do for you, Miss Kent?”

  “Well, I think I might be able to do something that will benefit both of us. I’d like to make and sell hats, and I see you have a lovely big window that faces south. If you could let me set up my hat shop right over there in the corner by the window, I’ll make an agreement with you. For every dollar I make I’ll pay you a dime. What do you say?”

  “Hats!” the grocer’s lip lifted in a sneer. “Most women in Tulsey Town wear sunbonnets, girl. No church, no school, no place for women to wear hats.”

  “What about her?” Eula Mae gestured toward an Indian woman leaning against the outside wall of the grocery store. She wore braids and a blanket. Atop her head was a large, new, very fashionable, very expensive looking hat, awash in flowers and bird wings.

  Boudreau gaped, stared at the woman a moment longer, then shouted for his wife.

  “Jessie. Jessie Boudreau. Get yourself out here to the front.”

  The grocer’s wife stepped to the counter beside him. Eula Mae noted the small bruise on her cheek.

  “What is it, Lester?”

  “This woman wants to sell hats.” He pointed at Eula Mae.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She wants to do it in our store.”

  “Oh, Lester, how wonderful!”

  The grocer’s face reddened. The look he gave his wife could only be called angry

  “You think that’s wonderful, do you?”

  “I do. I been wanting a new hat.”

  Eula Mae nodded and smiled at the grocer’s wife.

  “Tell you what, Mrs. Boudreau, I’ll make my first hat right here in the corner of your store and I’ll give it to you, free, if I can set up my shop here, with a little help from you and your husband.”

  “Oh, I have no idea about making hats. I wouldn’t be of any help to you.”

  “She can’t do nothing, including making hats,” her husband growled.

  “No, no. you misunderstand me. I will do all the sewing and making. What I’d like from you two is a wide board and maybe two barrels or boxes, to make a little display counter for my pretties.”

  “Oh, how smart. She has to make her corner look like a real shop. Of course she can have a board and some barrels for her shop, can’t she, Lester?”

  The grocer, still red faced, nodded and Eula Mae reached across the counter to shake the man’s hand.

  “If we have us a deal, Mr. Boudreau, there is one more thing I need from you.”

  “With women it’s always something. And what else might you be needing, Missy?”

  “I’ll help set up your counter,” Mrs. Boudreau offered.

  “I need to find a place to stay first, Mrs. Boudreau, a place cheaper than the hotel. Do you have any suggestions for me?”

  The grocer’s wife looked up into her husband’s face, her expression a question. Eula Mae held her breath. Maybe they had room for her?

  The red-faced man shook his head. “Not here. We ain’t got room.”

  “You let that Sweet Jud and his Willadene stay here sometimes. Couldn’t she sleep in that cubby hole?”

  Again he shook his head.

  Jessie looked somewhat apologetic.

  “I don’t know nowhere you could stay, hon, but soon as you find a place, me and Lester will get your little counter all set up for your furbelows. I just can’t wait to see what you can do.” She looked at Eula Mae’s hat. “Did you make your own hat, girl?”

  “Yes, I did. Do you like it?”

  “Kinda plain, but yes, it looks real elegant.”

  “Well, I’m in mourning. My Grandmother died recently, but I plan to put a rose or two on my hat when the time is right.”

  “You go on, Missie, Get yourself a bed somewhere and we’ll talk more when you get back.”

  Eula Mae nodded understanding. She needed to explore the town, anyway. Now would be a good time to do that. She could afford to stay one more night at the hotel.

  The three other mercantiles were much smaller than Mr. Boudreau’s place but each was better stocked than Boudreaus’s store. None had a room to rent her.

  She’d try the drugstore and if she had no luck there she’d try the three private houses she’d noted from across the river. There must be a place for her somewhere in this little town.

  Shock coursed through her. Mr. Montmercey’s wagon passed right in front of her. He lifted his hat and grinned. A respectable looking young, red-haired woman sat on the wagon seat in the wagon. She also smiled, Eula Mae felt pity for any woman who rode with that vile Montmorcey. She whirled to walk toward the drugstore.

  The druggist listened to her but shook his head. “Nothing here for you,” he said, “But you might try the doctor’s office in back.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Go outside, then down to the right to the new doctor’s office. I think they is two rooms back there.”

  Eula Mae followed the directions given and knocked at the door marked, “The Doctor Is In.” The door opened.

  “Mr. Starr,” she gasped, “Are you sick?” He smelled good and he wore a clean white shirt under his vest and he was newly shaved.

  “No, Miss Kent. How about you? Are you sick?”

  “I need to talk to the doctor. Can he see me?”

  “He sees you, darling. I am the doctor.” He laughed and took her hand to pull her into the reception room, then pushed the door closed behind her.

  “You! You’re a doctor?” How had she forgotten that lovely dimple in his cheek?

  “Yep.” He pointed to a framed certificate which hung on the wall. “Graduated from Harvard Medical, it says.”

  “Oh, Doctor, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, are you feeling bad?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Why are you calling on the doctor?”

  “I’m looking for a place to stay, something that costs less than the hotel.” She glanced around the office. “I thought he… uh… you, might have a place for me?”

  “I’d love to have you but the folks in town might think it strange that we were sharing a room… and you not being my missus, so to speak.”

  “Yeah. Well.” She turned toward the door. “I’ll try the houses, I guess.”

  “Maybe I can fix up a place for you. You have any objections to a tipi?”

  “A tipi? No. I don’t have anything against such a place. I’ve been in Te Atta’s tipi hundreds of times.”

  “Are you going to have a job?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Boudreau is giving me a tiny corner of his store where I can make hats. I’ll give him a percentage of what I make.” She traced her finger along the edge of his desk. “I need to go back across the river to get my sewing stuff.”

  “Can I take you?”

  “Do you have a wagon, Bart?”

  “I’ll borrow one.”

  “Will Ringling pull a wagon?”

  “Oh, no. He is much too fancy to pull wagons. I’ll use one of the mules. My youngest mule weighs much less than Ringling so we won’t have to work so hard on the ferry.”

  “Can we go tomorrow, Dr. Starr?”

  “You can call me Bartlett. I’ll pick you up at the hotel at about ten o’clock. You’ll be my missus again, perhaps.” He grinned. “You think Sweet Jud and his Willadena will be glad to see us?”

  “I hope so.” She could hardly tear her gaze away from his. ”I’ll be looking for you.”

  “And I will certainly be looking for you, my little missus.”

  “You can call me Eula Mae.”

  Chapter 6

  The crossing on the ferry again involved the hard labor of pulling the craft, loaded with the mule and the borrowed wagon. Sweet Jud grunted with effort occasionally but h
e didn’t speak. Eula Mae wore a pair of heavy work gloves furnished her by the Doctor. He wore the dressy leather gloves he’d worn on their trip over. She and Bartlett grunted with their efforts also, but this trip seemed easier in the crossing somehow.

  At the bank, Willadene fluttered first around her Sweet Jud, then she questioned Eula Mae and Dr. Starr.

  “You two going back this way now? I’m kinda surprised to see you so soon. Thought youall’d still be honeymooning about now.”

  “Just going to pick up a trunk for the missus.”

  “Oh, we’re not married, Willadene. Dr. Starr is a terrible tease. We hardly know each other. He’s just being kind to help me gather my belongings which I had to leave behind last time over.”

  “Well,” Willadene’s voice held disappointment. “I still think youall make a lovely couple.” She whispered to Eula, “Maybe you should marry him. You say he’s a Doctor?”

  “He’s Dr. Bartlett Starr and I’m Eula Mae Kent, spinster. I’ll be making hats in a corner of Mr.Boudreau’s store.”

  Willadene seemed stunned by the news. “Hats? Boudreau’s?”

  “Yes. Women’s hats. I’ve arranged with the owners to put my little hat shop in a front corner of their grocery store.”

  “That’s good.” Willadene’s voice grew wistful. “I ain’t never had me a real hat.”

  “You let us go back and forth on the ferry for free and I’ll trade you the trips for a hat that I make you. Of course, I’d also like for you to tell people where you got the hat. Would Sweet Jud go for that kind of an arrangement, do you think?”

  “Of course,” the fat little woman wrapped her husband in her arms once again. “Sweet Jud would love to see me looking all dressed up in a new hat, wouldn’t you, hon?” She looked down at the bald head of her husband. Eula Mae noted the almost imperceptible nod the man made against his wife’s bosom.