by Trinity Ford
She stood upright, sniffling and wiping her tears away with her skirt. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this. It was no time to be breaking down, with a baby about to enter the world. Millie walked back into the house to the back hallway. The Hearts and Hands publication was at the foot of the chair she’d been sitting in when Henry arrived. Picking it back up, she began thumbing through it again to try and take her mind off what had just happened.
When she got to page three, she stopped abruptly. There was a larger ad with a photograph, not of one man, but of at least a dozen, all standing on the front porch of a church.
Fort Worth, Texas
Local pastor seeks to help single men of congregation settle down with good-hearted, Christian women ages 18-30. Must be willing to stay in the Western frontier on the Chisolm Trail with married couple as chaperones and work for up to six months during courtship, in exchange for room and board as well as a small stipend. Please reply with brief background, skills and photograph.
Millie stopped to picture Fort Worth. The Paris of the Plains! A place far away from Kansas—a place where everyone was starting over. She wouldn’t really have to get married. She could just get there and then pretend she wasn’t a good fit for anyone. It was dishonest, and for a second, Millie felt a wave of guilt wash over her. But it disappeared when she thought about how many times Henry had said, “I’ll kill you.” Each time he got closer to it becoming the truth—each beating worse than the one before.
Abigail called out from her sister’s room. “The baby’s coming!” Millie tore the page out of the Hearts and Hands publication, stuffed it in the pocket of her dress and returned to the room, ready to deliver the baby.
Chapter Three
Sheriff John Lockhart stood by the swinging doors of the Peacock Saloon in Hell’s Half Acre, looking for Doc Springer to arrive, while keeping rowdy patrons from entering until the situation was under control. Fort Worth was bustling this time of year as the cattle drivers got ready to leave on the Chisolm Trail. It was their last stop before a long, harsh ride north, and the men used the town to fill up on supplies and indulge in some entertainment before setting out. That meant too much whisky and an overload of bravado, which resulted in many fights and an endless stream of trips into the Acre for Doc Springer to tend to the wounded.
Tonight was worse than usual. The Trinity River was flooded, which meant more cattle drivers stuck in town for a few days of frolicking until the water subsided. The tight quarters and saloons full of drunks armed with six-shooters and knives created a tinderbox in the little fledgling town, and Sheriff Lockhart had to stay on top of it.
“Where is the fool?” Doc Springer asked when he entered the saloon in a hurry, his medical bag in hand. This was the fourth time he’d been called to the Peacock Saloon to treat someone who’d gotten severely scratched, bitten or almost scalped by the wild panther kept in a cage beside the bar. The whole thing had started as a joke after an Austin newspaper poked fun of the town for being so dead that a panther was seen sleeping in the middle of Main Street. A few buffalo hunters had captured the animal and brought it with them to the saloon, handing it over in exchange for free whisky all night. “We have to get this thing shut down, Sheriff,” Doc said.
“I agree, Doc,” said Lockhart, leading him to the wounded patron who’d had part of his index finger bitten off after taunting the animal through the bars of the cage. “Nothing we can do about it tonight, though,” he said. “I’ll check with the mayor tomorrow at church and see if we can address it soon.” He knew it was hard on Doc Springer getting up at all hours of the night. He was nearing retirement, and tending to the wounds of foolish men wasn’t easy on him.
The sheriff waited while the bar patron’s finger was stitched up, then headed to the other end of the Acre, where he’d been summoned to break up a fight at Kitty Brown’s. Kitty ran a sporting house, where the lost souls gathered for immoral activities. The ladies of the house were young women, usually runaways or abandoned and left to fend for themselves. The men were uneducated, uncouth, and unremorseful for what they were doing. Lockhart expected to see the usual fight between Kitty, the bawd, and one of her customers, over money, but he was shocked to see Pastor Littlejohn in the middle of it all!
Clyde “One Eyed” Cleveland, a local who was always getting thrown into jail for various bar fights, had the pastor on the floor with a knife to his throat. He was daring him to mention the Bible just one more time. “Now what in the world do you think you’re doing, Clyde?” the sheriff said as he grabbed the drunk by the neck and stuffed him in a parlor chair.
“He’s trying to turn my best girl against me!” Clyde slurred, pointing to Nellie Watkins, sitting in the corner crying. Nellie had arrived just two weeks earlier, and when she couldn’t find word on the legitimate side of town, had turned to Kitty for a place to stay and work to support herself. It was something the sheriff saw all the time.
“I was just sharing the gospel with her, Sheriff,” Pastor Littlejohn said, scrambling to his feet. “She understands she’s made a big mistake!” He was as white as a ghost, not used to the unruly behavior infesting every square inch of the Acre.
“Stanley, you can’t be coming around here trying to preach to a bunch of drunk sinners,” the sheriff laughed. “You’re going to get yourself shot. Now go on home. If I see anyone who wants to be saved, I’ll bring them to church with me tomorrow. I promise.” Those weren’t just words. The sheriff had been responsible for helping many locals turn their lives around. He was well-respected in town because he’d done the same with his own life.
Stanley Littlejohn snapped up his hat and Bible and rushed out of the parlor to his wagon. From now on, he would stay home with his wife, Mabel, and try to spread the word of God from the safety of the pulpit instead.
Kitty walked up and rested her hand on the sheriff’s badge. “See anything you like, Sheriff?” she asked, looking directly into his sea blue eyes as if she was hoping to tempt him into sin. The sheriff always made an impression on the locals. His brawny 6’3 build, commanding voice, and gentle smile with a neatly trimmed mustache made it impossible for men and women alike to ignore him.
Sheriff Lockhart removed Kitty’s hand from his badge, tipped his hat and turned to leave. He noticed the young woman still sitting in the corner, crying. “Ma’am?” he asked. “You’ll be okay?” Nellie bent her head in shame, avoiding eye contact with him. He reached into his pocket and took out some money, handing it to her out of sight from Kitty and the others. “Best get out of town before you’re stuck here forever,” he said in a low voice. She smiled at him and nodded, running off to her room. He wasn’t sure if she would heed his advice or spend the money, but either way, it did his heart good knowing he’d tried.
The next morning at church, the sheriff stayed true to his word. He cornered the mayor, along with Doc Springer, and together they insisted an ordinance be made to prevent wild animals from being kept caged in the Acre. The townsfolk usually listened to anything John Lockhart wanted in regards to the law. After all, not just anyone could handle the brutal patrons on that side of town. On one hand, the good citizens loathed what was happening there, but on the other, all those fines and fees the lawbreakers generated brought a nice revenue to their growing, little town. Nothing could be done about the animals until next month at the council meeting, so they would have to be patient until then.
After that was settled, the sheriff was on his way home when Pastor Littlejohn stopped him and asked him to drop by for some refreshments at his home. “You don’t have to thank me,” Lockhart said to the Pastor, referencing the night before.
“Oh, I’m not!” Pastor Littlejohn said. “I mean, I am thankful, of course. But I wanted to talk to you about something else. Mabel’s making us some of her best dishes as we speak.” The sheriff followed Pastor Littlejohn across the street to his home and had a seat in the parlor. You could tell it had the touch of woman in it, the dainty décor and softness his wife Mabe
l had added. John’s house used to have that, too. But now, it was just a rough bachelor’s cabin, void of any hint that a woman once loved him and doted on him in the same manner.
Mabel scurried out of the kitchen and the men followed her into the dining room, where she had plated a feast of roast, turnip greens and hush puppies, along with some sweet tea, a favorite drink in the community on Sundays after church. “Did you tell him yet, Stanley?” she said, bubbling over with excitement.
“Not yet, Mabel,” the Pastor gently scolded, as if annoyed about being rushed. He looked nervous about having the conversation. “Well, John,” he said, turning his attention to the sheriff as they ate dinner. “You saw the success we had when I placed that matrimony ad that worked out well for Samuel, one of our other congregation members.” The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the Pastor as he waited for him to come clean. “I was hoping you’d let us do the same thing for you.”
Sheriff Lockhart sat quietly, as Mabel and Stanley glanced at each other nervously. Running through his mind, he thought about Samuel and Hannah’s recent happiness, how lonely it was coming home to an empty house every day after stabilizing Hell’s Half Acre, and how wonderful it once felt to have a wife and kids to bring laughter and love to his life. “I suppose I’d be all right with that,” was all he said, continuing on with the meal. The sheriff wasn’t the type to make a big fuss about anything. He was calm, rational, and unafraid to take risks if the payoff was worth it.
“Great!” Mabel squealed, as if unable to contain her excitement any longer. “We have the perfect girl.” She wasted no time shuffling off to her room to get the letter that had arrived from the latest ad. Stanley shook his head and mouthed I’m sorry to the sheriff, but both men broke out in laughter at the overly zealous nature of his wife. “Now,” Mabel began, “She’s real pretty, she’s smart and we already sent her a railway ticket, so she’ll be on her way in three days.”
Stanley spent the next part of the evening explaining how he and Mabel had first seen the reply letter from Millie Wallace. They been very impressed by her story, deciding to invite her here for John, but if he wasn’t amenable to it, planned to find someone else for her.
Dear Pastor and Mrs. Littlejohn,
My name is Millie Wallace and I’m a recently widowed midwife, with no children of my own, living in a small town in Kansas. I’m not afraid of the frontier and I’m used to hard work and long hours.
It is my hope that someone in your congregation would make a fine husband for me, as I promise to be a loyal, dedicated wife. Unfortunately, I’ll need to leave here soon, so I eagerly await your reply to see if Fort Worth will be in God’s plan for me.
Forever your friend,
Millie Wallace
John held the photograph of Millie in his hand. Her long, brown hair was pulled back gently at the nape of her neck with a ribbon tying it back. She had very soft, feminine facial features and a slight smile that made it look like she was very shy or nervous. For a moment, he was lost in time, remembering what it felt like to hold a woman’s smooth hand, to smell the scent of her perfume, and gaze into the eyes of someone you love who loves you back.
He remembered feeling as if God had blessed him more than one man deserved, and it had been two years since those feelings had stirred in John’s heart. Two years since everything had been taken from him, since he cursed God and struggled to find his way back from the darkness that swallowed him. Now, he was feeling blessed again. He had a wonderful job in a community that respected him. He loved Fort Worth and all the opportunities it provided. It was time for him to open his heart back up and find someone to share it with, and Millie Wallace, who had also lost a spouse, seemed to be a perfect fit.
Chapter Four
Millie had sent the letter to Pastor Littlejohn using her parents’ address for the return reply. She couldn’t have Henry finding the correspondence and discovering her plan to leave him.
“I’m leaving him, Mother,” she said. “Going somewhere far away. I need you to watch for a letter that will help me escape.” She knew her mother would help, because although she had resigned herself to a life of abuse, she never wanted that for her daughter.
Four weeks later, Millie’s answer came. It was the night her mother came over, feigning the excuse that she needed Millie’s help with a quilt she was working on. As soon as Henry left for the gambling halls, her mother filled her in. “The letter arrived, but we won’t get to read it,” she said. Millie’s heart raced as a panic flooded over her. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I saved your railway ticket. I wanted to read it and destroy it so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught, but your father walked in when I had the letter in my hand and the ticket in the pocket of my dress. I didn’t know what to do, so I tossed it into the fire so he wouldn’t see it. I’m so sorry!”
Millie wasn’t angry at her mother. She knew what it felt like to walk on eggshells and carefully avoid beatings. “Do you have the ticket for me?” she asked. The panic changed to a feeling of excitement and hope, knowing there was a definite date she would be getting free from Henry once and for all. Her body was trembling, she was so happy.
“When I went to the General Store this morning, I left it at the depot with your name on it,” her mother explained. “They said they’d keep it for you until time to leave. But I memorized it. You leave in three days, Saturday morning - on the 8 a.m. train to Fort Worth. Millie, what’s in Fort Worth? It’s dangerous there!”
“No more dangerous than living here with Henry,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she realized she’d be leaving her mother behind, possibly for good. “It’s gotten worse.” She showed her mother the bruises around her neck and on her arms, where he’d restrained her. She was still healing from a cracked rib where he’d kicked her when she refused to take pay for a baby she’d helped birth who had been stillborn. She was trying to help the family in their time of grief, but it only led to her own moment of terror. “He’ll kill me if I stay,” she whispered to her mother, almost as if Henry would hear her if she said it out loud.
Millie’s mother hugged her, still unaware of the circumstances under which Millie would be heading to Fort Worth. “You’re right,” her mother said. “I just want you to get free. Here, I’ve saved up a bit over the years whenever I had leftover money in my budget,” she said as she stuffed a small roll of money into Millie’s hand. Millie tried to refuse, but her mother wouldn’t take no for an answer. “In case something goes wrong in Fort Worth and you need to move on. Come see me Saturday morning before you head to the train station. Your father will be away on business.”
The two women embraced—no longer just mother and daughter, but two prisoners in their own world of fear, resentment and abuse. Millie would look forward to the day her father passed away and her mother would be free to join her in Fort Worth, like two doves being released from captivity, free to soar as high as their wings would take them.
Friday night, Henry did what he always did—took Millie’s money—except the hidden stash her mother had given her—and headed to the gambling hall to get drunk and lose it all. Millie was going to use this time to pack a bag, hide it outside, and prepare to sneak out Saturday morning before he awoke from his drunken stupor. She couldn’t take much, but she figured with her mother’s gift, she could buy a few things when she arrived in Fort Worth.
Her whole life would be changed when she stepped onto the railcar and left Henry behind. She hurried around the room, looking in drawers and closets. Anytime she came across something from her wedding or marriage, she tossed it aside, happy to be leaving those memories behind. Millie packed her Bible, a few changes of clothes, and the money roll her mother gave her. She was about to stash it outside in the bushes when Henry slammed the door open. Millie quickly hid the bag in the closet and laid down in bed, pretending to be asleep so he would leave her alone.
He was supposed to be gone until the early morning hours, li
ke he always was. Henry stumbled through the house, drunkenly knocking over everything in his path. He was mumbling to himself about being kicked out of the gambling hall and getting revenge on the person who said he was a cheater. Millie laid very still when Henry entered the bedroom. “Please just pass out and leave me alone,” she thought.
“Millie!” he slurred, kicking off his boots and throwing his hat on the floor. She was turned away from him, but she heard him climb into bed beside her. He scooted in close to her back, his whisky-soaked breath creeping like a dangerous fog over her neck and shoulder. “Millie, turn over.” She didn’t move. Henry didn’t care if she was asleep or awake, so he grabbed her shoulder and flipped her over. She closed her eyes and began praying, as she always did on nights like these, and allowed herself to get lost in the vision of what tomorrow would bring.
At seven o’clock in the morning, Millie, who hadn’t slept at all during the night, crept out of bed and got dressed. Henry usually slept hard after a night of drinking, but the closet door was creaky, so she would have to be careful or he would wake up and she wouldn’t be able to get away. After getting dressed, Millie stood over the bed looking at Henry. In her mind, she said all the things she wanted to say over the years. I’m glad I’m leaving you. What a horrible man you are. I can’t wait to get away and never see you again. She tiptoed over to the closet and slowly turned the knob. The moment she tried pulling the door open, it creaked loudly, and Henry stirred, opening his eyes, mumbling, “I want hotcakes for breakfast when I get up.”
