Kansas, 1886
“You, Wilhemina Jackson, have potential.”
Willie glanced around Rose McMurray, proprietor of the Kansas Gentleman’s club. Two of Rose’s lace-and-satin-cinched girls aided the madam in blocking Willie’s path on the sidewalk, leaving her to either step into the muddy street, enter the saloon doors on her right, or barrel through the fragrant trio like a twister across the prairie. At least once a week since Sam’s death, Rose complimented Willie’s “potential.” Never had a compliment felt so insulting.
“My answer is still no,” Willie answered.
Rose patted her sky-high red hair. “With your face and those curves that motherhood only enhanced, you could be my best girl.”
One of Rose’s sentries frowned and tugged at her low bodice to show her irritation at Rose’s words.
Willie rested her palms on the hilt of the gun she wore at her right hip. “No today, no tomorrow, no forever.” She took a step toward the street, but Rose blocked her.
Rose blinked her heavy lashes and maintained a genial smile. “Now, Willie dear, don’t be a fool. We both know you need the money. Your pride is going to starve those babies of yours.”
Willie winced. She didn’t need a madam to tell her something she already feared. “I have something else in mind to put food on my family’s table.”
Rose laughed. “Like become a deputy? Just because you used to help your husband with policing Apple Grove doesn’t mean the new sheriff here is going to give you a badge. My offer could be the easiest way you have of making a living, and a fine one at that.”
Willie opened her mouth to argue, but Rose cut her off with the touch of her painted nails to Willie’s cheek.
“You know where you can find me when you change your mind. And you will.” Rose turned her nose up, smoothed the skirt of her canary yellow gown and slipped through the doors of the saloon, her sentries following.
Willie clenched her jaw and fought against the tears. No matter what Rose thought, she wasn’t changing her mind. No matter what people said about the evils of pride, pride was what kept her from selling her body, shaming her children, and disgracing her dead husband’s name.
With a shake of her head, she continued down the rough-hewn sidewalk toward the telegraph office, smiling at those pitying looks as she passed, keeping her shoulders level and head held high. She’d answered the advertisement over a month ago. Thirty-two days had never felt so long. Please, Jesus, today, let there be an answer.
A ruckus at the end of the street drew her attention. Willie hiked her brown calico skirt and rushed to see what was happening.
Two men scuffled in the dirt street. Their fists flew faster than whiskey the time the newest saloon opened and the owner had provided a free round to every man in attendance in celebration. A crowd of no less than ten surrounded the fighting men, several of the onlookers shouting encouragement, and a few of Rose’s girls giggled and shrieked.
Willie pulled her gun from its holster. Marching through the crowd, she fired a shot over their heads. “Stop this nonsense before I fetch the sheriff.” She reached for the whip that hung at her waist since she’d begun helping her late husband, Sam, when he wore the sheriff’s star.
A hand clenched hers, stilling her from uncurling her whip. “I’ve got it, Willie.” The new sheriff, Dan Thomas, stepped beside her and lowered her gun hand. “There’s no longer any need for you to put yourself in harm’s way.”
Willie holstered her weapon as he shoved the fighters apart.
The crowd dispersed.
One of the fighters gave Willie a leering glance before leaving as well, one of Rose’s girls possessively clenching his arm.
“I would make a good deputy, Dan,” Willie said. “You know I would.”
“What I know is that a woman”—his hazel-eyed gaze moved south from her eyes, lingering—“like you needs to be at home tending to her husband…and children.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t mind you partnering with me in another capacity.”
She stiffened. Him too? Being a widow did not put an open for business sign above her head. Still, she gave him her best smile. “Why, Sheriff Thomas, is that a marriage proposal?”
He whitened like a bed sheet. “I, uhh…didn’t, uhh…”
Willie whirled, her skirt swinging around her ankles and left him to his muttered denials. What had the world come to? She marched to the telegraph office.
Pushing through the door, she prayed for a favorable response. Willie stopped at the counter. A burly man hunched over, writing words on a slip of paper as the machine tapped out the code.
When he finished, he smiled up at Willie. “Just the person this message is for.” He handed her the note.
“Thank you, Mr. Mason.” Willie gripped the yellow paper tight and dashed outside. Her heart pounded. After two years of scraping out a living on what she managed to hunt in the woods, after two years of eating what little their garden produced, after two years of raising a newborn and a toddler with no ones’ help save her mother’s, her hopes lay on penciled words hastily scripted. Please, Jesus, please.
She opened the crumpled paper and scanned the message.
She blinked.
She read the message again to be sure she hadn’t read it wrong, but the response from the mayor of the town was the same. The job was hers.
Willie clutched the telegram to her chest and leaned against the sun-baked front of the building. She closed her eyes and lifted her face heavenward. “Thank you, God.”
She’d done it. After two years of widowhood, and what seemed like a lifetime of tribulation, she’d found a means of supporting her family. All she had to do when she arrived at her destination was prove she could do the job. After that, her gender wouldn’t matter. Not a small feat, but one she was capable of accomplishing once she set her mind to it. She had to believe that.
She pushed off the wall and headed home.
Home was a ramshackle, one-room house on the outskirts of Apple Grove, Kansas. The sun cooked the walls and the winter cold entered uninvited through cracks between the board walls. Not much of a home, in her opinion, but since Samuel’s death, they only had what funds they could get from Mama’s sewing and Willie’s hunting. Thankfully, the hunting provided meat for the table and rabbit furs to trade for supplies.
Being careful not to knock the door off the tattered rawhide hinge, Willie slipped into the house and enjoyed a brief moment of rare silence. With two-year old Bonnie, six-year-old Samuel, and a mother who talked every waking moment, peace was in short supply for the tiny shack’s occupants.
She glanced one more time at the telegram in her hand before folding it and stowing it in her bodice, then stepped out the back door which took exactly twelve long strides from front door to back. “Mama?”
Her mother glanced up from where she weeded a small vegetable garden, her face bronzed from the summer sun. “What’s put a smile on your face, Willie?”
“A job.” Willie grinned. “A paying job that provides us with a house. Pack our things. We’re moving to Montana.”
“What? Why?” Mama straightened and wiped dusty hands on the faded green calico apron she wore.
“Life here is like sucking on a lemon.” Willie glanced toward the thin line of trees separating the house from the creek. Her children’s laughter rang through the air.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Really, Mama? What part of drippy ceilings and soup so thin it’s not more than flavored water isn’t ‘that bad’?”
“Well … it can’t be as bad as Montana. Bears walk boldly down the streets is what I’ve heard. It snows come September and doesn’t stop ‘til Easter.”
“From whom did you hear that ridiculousness?”
“It doesn’t matter. When did you decide to move to Montana?”
“Last month when One-Eyed Henry offered a trade, and he wasn’t talking about furs. Being a widow doesn’t mean I’ll sell myself to feed my children.”
“I reckon you’re right. When are you leaving?” Tears filled her eyes.
“Us. We are leaving, Mama. You’re going with us. I want to leave as soon as possible.” Winter was over, and they could be in Montana by the beginning of summer.
“I reckon I’d best say goodbye to my friends. I’ve lived here so long, it’s a darn shame, is all I got to say.” She bustled toward the house.
Willie marched to the fallen barn and studied the wagon. Maybe she could use boards from the barn to repair the wagon. No one would buy it in the poor shape it was in. The two oxen, skinny from sparse feed, might not make the long journey. No, it would be best to scrounge up train fare as far as they could go, and buy a wagon then to carry them the rest of the way. She hoped the old man at the livery would be willing to buy such sad looking beasts. She’d find out in the morning.
“I’ve some sewing to finish.” Mama hollered out the door. “Wouldn’t do to leave a job undone. Junior has Bonnie down by the creek. He said something about mud pies.” She shook her head. “This is one of those times when we can thank the good Lord we don’t have much. Two oxen, a rundown wagon, and children to make a trip across country with no men folk? Lord a mercy may the angels go with us!”
Willie let her mother rattle on and headed toward the creek. Mama knew how much she hated letting the children play there unsupervised. Sure, the water ran low this time of year, but accidents happened all the time on the prairie.
The sound of shrieks and laughter reached her ears before she saw her babies playing. She sat on a large rock and watched. Junior stood in the creek, water to his knees, and splashed his sister who jumped up and down on the creek bank and shrieked with glee.
How precious they were, and how sad that Sam had died before seeing his baby girl. She would have melted her daddy with one glance of her bluebonnet eyes. But, life went on in the form of these two children, thus giving Willie a reason to live. She was responsible for much more than herself.
Every time she moved, the telegram crackled, reminding her that her family had a future. Maybe she wouldn’t wait until morning to try selling the oxen. “Children? Would you enjoy a trip to the mercantile?”
Junior stopped splashing. “Can we get a peppermint?”
She calculated the coins in the metal cigar box in the house. “Yes, I believe you can.” After all, the journey would be long even by train, and the little ones would need a treat or two along the way. She held out her hands for them to grasp. “We’re moving to a place called Wild Horse Pass, Montana.”
- ASIN : B0CPVKD296
- Publisher : Independently published
- Publication date : December 8, 2023
- Language : English
- Print length : 333 pages
- ISBN-13 : 979-8871253168