The Jewels of Nebraska Episode 13 -Think like a maid

Being that it's been a spell since my last post (I'm starting to talk like my characters) maybe a refresher may be in order in the way of re-reading Episode 12 No? Okay then, carry on...

It was just four hours ago that William was tossing and turning is his bedroll, one side towards the fire then the other all night long. Half of him was always freezing and the other baking. Now it was only half past nine and the sun was already hot as an oven with no way to relieve it. He looked at the horse beneath him.

“I'm sure glad I don't have to carry someone on my back in this heat.”

“You don't weigh nuthin' to that horse. He's strong, you're just a fly to him,” said Ben.

“Even a fly might be too much.”

Kohn's horse was out front, occasionally he would stop and hold up a fist. Ben and William would pull on their reins and be silent while Kohn sniffed the air, or got down off his horse, examined the dirt and brush, then he'd get back on his horse and scan the horizon. They had been in the desert for two days and no sign of Ruby or the Huettes, at least none that Kohn had mentioned, he hadn't said a word in almost a day.

“Hey Kohn, what makes you think they weren't on the road in their car? We're nowhere near a road,” said Ben. “I'm no tracker but...”

Kohn Nodded. “No tracker.”

In the afternoon they stopped under the shady wall of a canyon to rest the horses.

“Do you think we'll get attacked by Indians?” William asked Ben.

“No, it's 1922, it's not like in the pictures. I don't think it ever was to be honest.”

“There are still Injuns, and we're out here on horseback sleeping by our fire at night, it's just like the pictures, cept I didn't know it was gunna be so hot.”

“Indians live on reservations now and they don't go attacking anyone.”

“So who are they?” William pointed up to the top of the canyon. A dozen or more Indian silhouettes on horseback stood watching them.

It had been months since I'd seen Charlotte face-to-face, it was safer that way. This good news couldn't wait though. I made the bold move of going straight to the Millard Mansion to speak to her myself. She had been breathtaking even when she was in the depths of sorrow, I wanted to see with my own eyes when she learned I had found her baby. I'd be a dirty liar if I claimed I hadn't imagined her perhaps hugging my neck in her joy and gratitude.

Olaf, the milk boy who had delivered my letters, had told me her quarters were the right two dormers of the third floor. Growing up in Nebraska never gave me a lot of opportunities to learn climb real good, and it was plain daylight, but that didn't matter to me none, knowin' what I know'd.

A drain pipe got me to the first and second floor roofs before I had a chance to look down, which, when I did, I realized was a big mistake. The tiled roof was steep and slippery, but I managed to overcome my fear and maneuver myself next to a dormer window. With quaking hands my pocket knife, I popped the window open and climbed inside.

I had just, for the first time in my life, committed a crime.

I found myself in a dressing room with fancy wall paper, oriental rugs, walnut furniture and finely crocheted lace on every surface. Like most houses of that stature, the top floor was reserved for servant's quarters, but her area had been converted and adorned to match her class; a finely appointed tower for Rapunzel.

I panicked for a place to hide when I heard the door latch turn, but there was no where to go, no time. A young maid walked into the room with a basket stacked high with white linens. The high load kept her from seeing me right away. I realized in my enthusiasm I had not thought out any sort of plan, I just started climbing drain pipes and opening windows, assuming Charlotte would be waiting for me at the top with open arms. My mind raced for what to do. It would be a matter of seconds before the poor girl had the fright of her life.

I had nothing.

An unfamiliar silhouette in the edge of her eye cause her to look my way. She made a meek little squeel and the basket flew up in the air. The air was a storm of white sheets and pillow cases. She made her escape on the other side of it. I ran and caught her at the door. I planted my foot against it. I grabbed her wrist and prepared to place my hand over her mouth to prevent the inevitable scream, but there was none. She fell to the ground and curled up like a potato bug with her knees to her chest and her head between them.

I let go of her arm.

“Miss, its okay,” I began unsteadily. “You see, I'm a friend of Charlotte's, of Miss Charlotte's.” The lump of maid on the floor only quivered and whimpered. “I didn't mean to frighten you, I think we frightened each other hehe. But the um, laundry seems to have taken the worst fright hehe.. Awe, get up will ya miss, I'm not going to hurt you or nothin, promise.”

I touched her back gently but she only whimpered and tightened her little cocoon.

This was a girl who had been mistreated.

What do I do now? Nothing was working. It was only a matter of time before one of the staff went to see what was taking her so long. The laundry laying about the room was clean. Some of it was still somewhat folded after it's flight.

If I was going to get out of this without wearing handcuffs I was going to have to think like a maid.

I left her by the door. She could slip out, but I had to take the risk. I picked up the nearest sheet off the floor and carefully folded it, turned the basket right-side-up and placed the sheet square in the bottom. I did another sheet, and another. I could see the maid looking up at me, her head cocked in perplexity. I pretended to pay no attention.

“I'm in service myself you know” I said, “waiter at the Country Club, even worked a party here last Christmas. Folded a few thousand tablecloths in my day, yessir.”

“You're doing it wrong.” She said.

“It's right for a table cloth.”

“wrong for bed linens.”

“Show me.” I held out a sheet in her direction.

She got up and cautiously picked up a nearby pillow case. With a couple deft moves it was a tight perfect rectangle and in the basket. A sheet took her not much longer. Between the two of us the basket was soon full and the floor empty.

“I should really launder them all over again.” She looked at the basket with heartbreak.

“The floor is spotless, no harm done. I won't tell... if you won't”

“Yeah, okay I guess. Well, just what are you doin' here mister?”

“Looking for Charlotte.”

“Miss Charlotte's a lady, you're no friend of hers creepin' in upstairs windows an such.”

“What's your name girl?”

“Opal.”

“That's a pretty name. Opal, I'm sorta workin' for miss Charlotte, helping her find something she'd lost, something she's plenty sad over. The thing is see, I think I found it.”

“You're the fella that writes them letters, and you've found her baby!”

“Um, yeah actually, how'd you know, did she tell you?” I said.

“She never says nothin'.”

“How then?”

“I thought you said you were in service?”

“Ah, of course.” I laughed, “Where is Miss Charlotte now Opal? I have to see her.”

“Oh sweet heavens, You don't know what's happened, do ya?”

Bishop Clarkson Hospital was a brand new large five story brick building with a cross standing proudly on the roof above the front entrance. Modern sun porches on either end at every floor that could conceivably be scaled, but I was done with high places! The service entrance in the back seemed my best bet. The kitchen wasn't hard to find and from there a white smock and cap hanging by a door.

“Say fella, I'm supposed to bring this dinner to Miss Millard, a lady who's here for hysteria and melancholy but they messed up the room number and I'm new so I don't know where to go.”

“You might be new, the man said, but you don't work in no kitchen.”

“Well sure I do.”

“Not with white skin you don't.”

Before I knew it I was out behind the hospital again and brushing the dirt off my shoulders. Now they knew me and had orders to keep me out.

Two nuns glided silently by me. They had come from a small convent by the hospital for the sisters who served there.

I got an idea just then. A horrible, horrible idea.

Continued in episode 14

The Jewels of Nebraska #12 -Unfair Fight

To start this series from the beginning.
“I don't know.” The man looked skeptical. “I don't really need a truck, it's kinda beat up.”

He walked around Ben's vehicle for the umpteenth time and kicked the tires again. “Tell you what, I'm feeling generous. The gelding and a pony for the old Model-T.”

Kohn looked at the horses in the paddock. They were eating a discarded sandwich off the ground.

“Threes horses, we need ja,” said Kohn, holding up three thimbles.

A buxom woman in a lavender dress walked up the other end of the alley with a basket swinging in rhythm to her hips. The stableman's eyes were glued to her approach.

“Mmm MM! Would you look at that. Well, fella with the silver fingers, that is my final offer. If you don't like it, then good day to you.” His eyes never left the woman.

“Delilah, my darling, what brings you here?”

“Just thought you might like a little lunch, honey bunch.”

“I'm starvin, in fact, just like yesterday, and same as tomorrow I hope, you gorgeous thing!”

“What are we going to do?” said William.

“Well, I can probably get some work here in Grand Junction, “Ben said, “but it will take a while before we have enough. Have to take a room.”

“No, is to long,” Kohn said.

“Now Kohn, no stealin' or shenanigans, that was the deal, If we can't get those horses in a straight deal, we have to do something else.”

The thimbles clicked together in a regular rhythm.

“Boy, boy,” Kohn said quietly, “take peek-chure ja.” He pointed first at the ever-present camera around William's neck, then at the stable keeper and the giggling woman presenting him with his lunch.

“Awe, I've only got one shot left.”

“What'r you up to Kohn?” said Ben.

“Something else. Go William, take ja.”

William walked up to the flirting couple. He looked down into the view finder, waited til they noticed him and clicked the shutter.

“Hey, what's the big idea boy. What'dya think you're doin'? Why'd you take that photo? Gimme that!”

Kohn strode up behind the boy.

“New deal is, three horses for truck... and camera film.”

“Why of all the dirty... alright, alight it's a deal.”

As they led their new horses away William looked up at Kohn. “Why'd that man change his mind?”

“Two women make lunch. One lunch goes horses. Wife would not be happy if know she feeds horses and fat girl feeds husband.”

“What do we do?”

“We wait,” the girl said.

She was about Ruby's age, maybe younger but taller and heavier.

“Wait for what?”

The girl smiled. “You can read if you like.” There were several books on a table in front of the chairs and lounges that lined the locked and sweltering upstairs room.

The books all had the same author: Ernest J. Tobias.

The other girl was reclined in a rocking chair with her feet up on an ottoman. The two looked like they came from and belonged in different homes. She rocked and fanned herself incessantly with a small heart-shaped fan woven from reeds.

Ruby got up and went to the window. It seemed like everyone in the community was out doing something. Hauling rocks from a new field, carrying buckets of water from the well, hammering on the skeleton of yet another ramshackle house made from used lumber and old windows.

When she looked close she could see Ester and Caleb toiling over a field of some green but scant crop.

She felt a little sorry for Ester, she couldn't help but feel pleased about Caleb's dilemma. As a new and unproven member of the community he had lost most of his possessions, Ruby included.

She had been spared having to wed the cruel old man, even though she was now the 'property' of Brother Tobias it would seem. Ruby and dozen or so others from about thirteen to thirty years of age. Most of them slept in a dorm room of the main house together. Every night before the lamps were blown out, a church elder would pick a girl or two.

They returned to their cots in the dark after a couple of hours.

In the morning after prayers and breakfast most of the girls went off with several elders. Ruby was locked in the room with the chairs, just like yesterday. Today she had company, Meerah was her name maybe.

Some of the girls were mean, most ignored her. They all wore plain blue ill-fitting dresses. Ruby's was too big for her. Her own clothes were ripped up for rags. One of the older girls had used one to replace another blood stained rag from under her dress.

Unless there was a foot of snow on the ground, there was always ten things to be done back on the farm. With her mama in her state and her papa dead as I am, Ruby had to do nine of 'em yessir. She wasn't about to complain about being shut inside while others toiled in the sun. She just couldn't shake the feelin—outside of being kidnapped and lost from her brother—that she was in some sort of trouble.

“Ain't we supposed to do chores or something?” Ruby said.

“No, they wanna keep us pretty, plump and pale. Sometimes we do mending, peel potatoes maybe, but no work in the sun, no dirt under our nails. They gunna fatten you up I reckon. They got me on a diet. That's why I'm stuck back here with you, not off with the others, little too fat Brother Erlick said.

“Where are the others?”

The girl rolled her head in Ruby's direction with a minimum of effort and smiled.

“Hey new girl, if you're that bored, You could always come over here and rub on my feet... or wherever.”

“This look familiar?”

“It's a thimble,” said the man behind the counter.

“Of course it's a thimble wise guy. Do you sell any like this one?” My head was still pounding and I had very little patience.

“No, don't think so. Lemme have a look.” He brought it close to his eye and turned the thing over seeing the tar coating the inside. He sniffed. “Aha!” he said. “I don't sell this particular item, this is one of them the fancy ladies put in glass cases, ladies who don't sew or mend. I think I have heard of this though. This thimble doesn't even belong to a lady if I'm correct.”

He wrote down an address on a receipt and handed it to me.

“Show your thimble to the man at this shop. He'll be able to tell you more.”

The bar was more crowded than I expected. It was still mid afternoon. He wasn't hard to spot, a tall man at the bar with his large black hat still on his head. I took a deep breath and walked up to the bar. I slapped the thimble on the table. Time seemed to freeze as I waited for what he would do. He picked up the thimble and placed it on a blackened pointer finger on his Left hand and pressed hard till the tar inside the thimble set to his fingertip. Every other finger was so adorned.

“Tak.” he said.

He took a drink.

“Listen mister. I got a beef with you. I gotta goose egg on my head cuz a you.”

No reaction.

I'm not a fight'n man. Never thrown a punch cept what was in good fun or sport, but thinking of Charlotte and her daughter, all her tears and anguish, thinking of the cowardly lump this guy had given me; something just kind-of gave way inside of me.

My fist flew fast, but twice as fast came a steel grip around my wrist. The guy didn't even look up. Without letting go, he got up from the bar, dragging me with him, and threw me into the street amongst jeers and cheers from inside.

“Tak, thank,” he said holding up the hand with the newly recovered thimble. “Home go ja.”

He disappeared back inside.

A sane man would have simply walked away, but his action only infuriated me more. When I ran at him inside he lifted me off the ground with my own speed like he was swatting at a fly. I landed behind the bar.

My next attack was met with his fist. I saw stars. Through my blurred vision I could see he was still sitting at the bar, sure that the annoying fly had gotten the message.

I had not.

The chair I broke over his back got his attention. He was engaged now. I danced in front of him, fisticuffs at the ready. His reach impossibly longer than mine, I couldn't hope to land a blow. I dodged his first couple throws. The next landed square on my nose. There was a crunch. I could taste the salt of my blood as it ran past my lips.

Still I danced before him, ready to take any opening he might allow. The next punch was to my jaw. It took me off my feet, but I was soon back up.

The crowd had taken to the sport and had formed a noisy ring around us.

He knocked me down again with his thimble tipped wrecking ball fists. Each time though, I got to my feet and raised my own fists; fists that had not yet hit a thing. He gave me an odd look of exasperation.

I had gotten the swing of his blows by this time and dodged the next one. I grabbed it as it went past. I sunk my teeth into his arm just before it disappeared into his black jacket. I don't know if his scream was of pain or rage, but after all my failed attempts to cause any sort of harm, I found it euphorically satisfying.

That was not my plan though.

The fist of the arm I was biting opened instinctually. I could see the objects of my attack. Before he started bludgeoning me with his free hand I reached up and started popping thimbles off his fingers.

It sounded a bit like popcorn.

The tall man fell to the floor and began grasping at the scattering thimbles like a blind beggar who's tin cup had been overturned.

I stood over him, bleeding, soaked in the delusion that I had won. Until he had replaced the last thimble I and the room of rapt spectators ceased to exist to him. As he rose from the floor I figured it may have been wiser to use that time to get my carcass out of that bar and as far down the street as my legs could carry me.

I had saved him the trouble of the chase, yet he seemed ungrateful.

He held me aloft from my lapels and he ran me backwards across the room. I wondered at that moment what I my poor back would encounter first, a wall, the piano, God forbid, the antlers of the mounted buck.

It was the wall.

I crumbled to the floor trying to fill my lungs with air again. He picked up the rag doll—me—and set me in a chair. He had a bottle and glasses in his hand when he returned from the bar. He poured two whiskeys and slid one across to me. It stung like hell in the cuts in my mouth. Pain began reporting in from various parts of my body, some I didn't even remember him striking or throwing me on.

I thought this was as good a time as any to deliver my message.

“Where's her baby you sonofabitch!”

“What ja?” he said.

“I know you're on the take for those baby stealers.”

“You no with Steinberger Brothers?”

“Never heard of em.”

He turned the new information around in his head. I sipped my whiskey and mopped blood with my handkerchief. I guess it ain't unreasonable to consider he may have had more than one client.

“I think you from someone else. You take heap beating, like badger, keep coming back.” Kohn gave what may have been a smile. “We talk about your baby now ja.”

Continued in episode 13

The Jewels of Nebraska, #11 -Heaven

To start this series from the beginning. 

So this was the desert. She pictured it different. Sand dunes, cactus with arms like a man, coyotes and cowboys on horseback. There was none of that. It wasn't even flat; distant mountains and constant canyons; wounds carved into the earth with God's angry plow, bizarre red rock formations rose from the earth like giant sculptures. The land was spotted with small bushes that looked dry and dead. It went on forever it seemed. The little Model-T chugged on, hour after hot miserable hour. 

Ruby sat unrestrained between Caleb and Ester Huette. The gaping vastness of the Utah desert was all the rope and gag they needed to keep their young captive at hand. Each mile the overloaded Model-T chugged further into the desert, she knew she was further lost from Billy or a chance of escape.

The expectation of seeing her brother had slipped from a hope to a hint of doubt. Would she ever see him again? No matter how hard she threw it away, the nagging thought returned to her like a boomerang, again and again.

They nearly missed the small wooden sign read “Heaven” in faded white paint. Caleb turned off the dirt highway onto a set a tracks that snaked off into the horizon. The rough road caused two flat tires in the next hours. One more and they would have to stop for the night while Caleb built a fire to vulcanize an inner tube, there were no more spares.

Even for Ruby it was a welcome thing to finally see the compound, at first a set of white specks in a sprawling valley. It slowly came into focus, not quite a town, a dozen or so plain buildings in two rows forming a short street with a larger structure at the end.

All the buildings looked like a construction collage assembled from various abandoned houses and barns. At the end of the rows the street dead-ended at a larger house. Ruby thought maybe it was a church. It was as plain and ugly as the others, just biggerand in a position of prominence, like a father at the end of a dining table.

The Model-T rattled and snorted between the houses. A woman tending a sorry-looking garden, a toddler sitting in the dirt nearby, two women lugging a huge basket of laundry, a group a children playing behind the houses, several men talking in a circle; all stopped and stared at the new arrivals.

There were no smiles.

Caleb shut off the engine to a hollow silence. A door opened to the large building they had stopped in front of. A fat balding man wearing a white robe walked down the steps towards them.

“Brother Caleb I trust,” the man said.

“Brother Tobias!” Caleb kneeled and bowed his head. Brother Tobias placed his hands on Caleb's head and said something Ruby couldn't hear. Caleb returned to his feet.

“You must be tired and hungry.” Brother Tobias said. “You're just in time for our evening meal.”

The main floor of the big house was a large room. Mismatched chairs were arranged in rows like a church. Women and girls were moving them, bringing in tables and arranging the chairs at them. Only one chair, a large heavy one of carved wood and faded velvet, was set at the end of a table.

Caleb was given a place of honor near the head of the table where Brother Tobias sat in his velvet thrown. Other men, Deacons of some sort flanked him directly.

The man spoke like he was reading aloud from a book about himself. The deacons nodded more than spoke. Caleb was like a small child meeting Santa Claus.

There was little mention of God, no one at all spoke of Jesus.

The food was plain and colorless. Limp greens and a yellow meal mush served with glasses of cloudy water. Ruby looked around to see if anyone shared her expression of disgust, no one, except Ester, did.

Children sat at a separated table. Their relative silence was disconcerting. Women were mostly silent as well. As Ruby looked around the room she noticed there weren't no boys or men from her age to 'bout the age of thirty.

“You did not mentioned that you had a daughter.” Brother Tobias said.

“She's not a daughter. She joined us along the way. A bit willful, but I think, with some corrective teaching, she will make a fine wife.”

“She's very lovely. With some instruction she will do very nicely. Is she pure?”

Ruby turned bright red with anger and embarrassment.

“Yes, I had my wife examine her.”

“Spendid, splendid!”

Brother Tobias rose from his half eaten meal. Everyone in the room stood quickly as if a general had entered the room. Caleb rose as soon as he realized, Ester followed soon after. Ruby looked around at the glaring eyes and got up from her chair.

“Ah, it would seem we do have some work ahead of us.” Tobias walked around behind Ruby and placed his hands on her shoulders. It made her shudder. She resisted the strong urge to shrug off or bat away his touch. “Don't worry dear, you'll soon get the hang of things.”

“Brother Caleb I am so glad to finally meet you and have you in our congregation. I can tell you will soon be a man of great standing here. Your contribution has already impressed me greatly.

His hands squeezed her shoulders on the word “contribution”. Ruby's mouth went dry.

Caleb looked pale. “Ah, um Brother Tobias,” he stammered, “I did not mean for... that is to say the young lady I intended for my... You see I...”

“Brother Caleb? You seem a bit lost, but that's why you're here isn't, to find what is lost in your spirit?”

“Y-yess, yes Brother Tobias, I am grateful and blessed to be among your followers to be here as a humble servant... I just thought...”

“Thinking: a instrument of doubt, a lack of faith. You don't have a lack of faith do you? You don't have a lack of fatih in me?”

No one spoke or moved a muscle. A child coughed from an unseen corner of the room.

“No, no Brother Tobias, my faith is not lacking.” Caleb's head lowered.

Ruby couldn't help but but smile. The bastard finally got a beating himself. Her delight was short lived though.

“You are new, so we will forgive your misunderstanding. I'm sure my letters to you were very clear I'm sure.” Brother Tobias glared at the deacon to his right.

“Very clear,” said the deacon.

“The shepard watches over his flock. Unwed lambs need the closest and the most intimate of care.” His fleshy hands on her shoulders gripped Ruby and swayed her to and fro as he spoke. Fertile women are a gift Brother Caleb, and a privilege for only the worthiest of men. Strong seeds make a strong forest, weak seeds are of little use.

Because of the gift you have brought me, you will keep your own wife for now, unless your faith proves to be as weak in other matters as it seems to be in this one. Some who arrive are not so in my favor.”

A murmur rose throughout the room, but was silenced the moment Brother Tobias' looked up.

“Well Brother Caleb?”

“No, Brother Tobias my, my faith is strong, my faith in you, praise be O Lord,” Caleb said.

“Excellent! As you grow in your service to the shepard, you may become worthy. Your gift of this young bride to me is a tremendous gesture Brother Caleb. In Fact, her Tobian name will hereby be 'Kallah' in your honor.”

Ruby felt like a stone had just been dropped in her stomach.

Brother Bressel, see that Brother Huette and his wife are settled in and given proper clothes, Sister Anne see to Kallah, prepare her.” His head moved close to Ruby's side and he looked at her while still addressing the room. “She will be have the honor of being my tenth wife in one week's time.”

“What's the occasion?”

“What?” I said.

“You don't usually stick around after work,” said Robert.

He was right. It was the first time I had joined the nightly gathering a waiters, kitchen maids and bartenders after the country club had closed. I never understood it. At the mill no one in there right mind would spend an extra minute within the gates, yet here they spent hours at the bar every night talking and drinking until the wee hours of the morning.

“I have a job early in the morning,” I said, “before the street cars are running, no point in going home.”

“That's rough. You back at the mill?”

I didn't answer.

When the last chair had been put up and the lights had been turned off I cut across the links of the golf course through the dark and headed for the Millard estate. It was around 3AM. I found a tree across the street and leaned against it hoping my silhouette would not show in the street lights. I braced against the night cold of early spring and waited.

I did not mind the night without sleep. I did not mind the cold or the hours of boredom while I waited. I didn't know which window but I knew my Charlotte was asleep in the mansion across the street. My heart knew I was close and beat happily.

A bird's call jolted me awake. How long had I slept? The sky was deep blue and glowing to the East. I looked across the street at the estate. There was no one about. I cursed silently. How could I have fallen asleep? How could I tell Charlotte I'd failed our only chance for a month.

I heard the sound of a horse a wagon a few streets over, probably Olaf and his father on their milk route. Through the mist I saw a figure on the sidewalk on the other side of the street; tall, deliberate in his motion, his hands hung motionless at his sides. His feet made no sound on the slate sidewalk. I slid around the tree to remain hidden. I peered carefully around when I did not see him pass by the estate. He was headed up the long walk to the front door. Beside the house he reached down into a bush and pulled out an envelope, just like Olaf had said.

I ducked behind the tree again before he turned. Someone that moved so silently probably had the ears of an owl. I had to be careful, yessir.

He went back down the sidewalk the way he came. I moved tree to tree, trying hard to be swift and quiet, His long legged gate made it hard to keep up. On the bigger streets following was both easier and harder. There was a few people about and the odd wagon passing better covered the sound of my movement, but there were no longer any trees to hide behind.

I saw the man disappear into an alley. I followed. When I caught up he was gone. I had lost him!

I didn't know what hit me.

Darkness, strange dreams.

I was on the ground and my head hurt. It was light and the city was in full swing. I sat against a pallet with my head in my hands. I had failed. Not only had I lost track of him, I had scared him from his routine and I wouldn't be able to repeat a trail.

Then I saw it. Half in the mud. A silver thimble. I picked it up. It was polished to a perfect shine on the outside, but black with a sticky tar on the inside. I didn't know what it meant, but it was all I had.

In front of the hall the Huette's belongings had been unloaded from their truck arranged into a pile. The congregation picked through it and took various items to their huts for themselves. It was clear who the higher ranking members were. Some waited they turn to select a chair or carpet. A few minor tugs over some of the better items. One man was beaten down by another for trying to overstep his order in the queue.

Caleb watched his possessions go into the hands of strangers one by one. He knew better than to protest, or to take anything for himself until the last member had gone through the pile.

The truck itself was being pushed away by two teenage boys shaved bald and dressed in rags. A third was walking away with a gas can and a siphon hose towards a large tank and a generator.

He and Ester picked up what was left, just a box of photographs, a dented tea kettle and what was left of their suitcases. They walked to a barn-like dormitory behind the row of houses as they had been directed.

Caleb thought back to the day he had told her of his plan to leave St. Louis and live in Brother Tobias' fold, a place called “Heaven, Utah”.

“Listen, if we don't like it we can just pick up and move on to California,” he had told her.

It seemed there would be no leaving "Heaven".

Continued in episode 12

The Jewels of Nebraska #10 -Gas From a Straw

The Jewels of Nebraska -Episode 10

To start this series from the beginning. 

Ben wasn't sure if he had enough money to even get himself home. He was camped a stone's throw from the highway. He hadn't had much to eat for a couple days. He thought about his garden back home, with tomatoes rotting on the vine.

There had been no sign of either the Injun'-talkin' Swede who had stolen his neighbor's truck, or the two runaways and the couple he had sent them off with. What the heck had made him run off like that in the first place, he wondered.

He thought about Ruby. “I ain't so skinny.” she'd said to him after kissing him on the cheek. She'd held on to his face with both hands and smiled with her eyes. He hadn't given her much thought till then, now he couldn't get her out of his fool brain.

He let the campfire burn to embers. His eyes closed.

Fool, fool, fool.

He would turn back in the morning.

The back of the truck under the tarp and amongst ragged old furniture was not a fun place to ride, Ruby already knew. It was even less fun when she was bound hand and foot and gagged with a rag between her teeth. Her backside raw as red meat from Caleb's beatings.

She passed the time remember old songs and humming them through her gag. Then it occurred to her; was it the twenty-first? She counted the days back to the time she and Billy had jumped the train. It was, it was the twenty-first! She switched to a different tune. It sounded so much sadder then the last time she'd heard it.

Happy Birthday.

Caleb had taken the precaution of securing the unruly girl after the incident on the narrow cliff road. They were driving through Grand Junction that day and he didn't need any attention drawn to them. She'd tried to convince that young couple she was being kidnapped.

'Kidnapped', the insolence. This ungrateful girl was being delivered into grace. He'd teach her to appreciate her blessings; one way er another.

It was a great blessing all around. It was clearly God's will that he arrive at Brother Tobias's compound with one wife wed and, one ready to be his second bride, wed by Brother Tobias hisself, Caleb imagined. Brand new to the Church as he would be, Brother Tobias would probably make him a deacon, or some such person of prominence in the community for bringing two females into the fold, one still of childbearing age.

Brother Tobias had six wives already according to his books and his letters and encouraged his followers to do the same.

While buying gasoline in Grand Junction, Caleb explained to the attendant that the furious noises and bumping coming from under the tarp of the truck was the family pig, even though the fellow hadn't asked him nothin'.

Ben jumped up from his sleep. The big Swede was sitting opposite him poking the ashes of the fire with a stick.

Unarmed, he grabbed a sturdy branch and held it like a baseball bat. The man in the black hat didn't stir, didn't look up.

“Where are the kids?” Ben said. His voice jumped in pitch un-expectedly.

The brim of the hat tilted to the right. Ben looked over and saw William sitting on a rock, holding a camera. He looked down into the viewfinder, pointed at Ben and the branch and clicked the shutter. He looked up with a smile.

“Hi Ben,” said the boy.

“Billy!” shouted Ben. “You alright?”

“Yeah fine. Mr. Huette hit Ruby in the face. They took Ruby, left me by the road. I saw a bear, didn't take a picture of the bear though, darn it.”

“I'm sorry.” Ben sat back down. “I'm sorry I left you with such bad people. They seemed so nice.”

“We're lookin' for Ruby.”

“So this fellow hasn't hurt you none?” Ben nodded at the black hat.

“Nah, he's okay I guess. Never says too much.”

“We go, ja,” said Kohn.

“See, stuff like that. Then he won't say another word until lunch,” said William.

Kohn walked back up to the road, Ben grabbed his bedroll and jacket and followed with William.

“Hey, what's the idea?” Ben said when he saw Kohn ripping a fuel line out of the engine of his truck.

Kohn walked back to the gasoline tank and fished the hose inside. He began sucking from the hose like a straw.

“He doesn't drink that, does he?” It might explain a thing or two.

“That's what I thought first time too,” said William, “watch”.

“Yeah, I can't wait to see what else he's going to do to my truck!”

Kohn took the hose from his mouth and placed it in a gas can. They heard gasoline dribbling into the empty can.

“See? Neato, huh?”

“Yeah,'neato,' he's stealin' my fuel!”

“Just movin' it to the other truck. You're comin' with us, to help get Ruby.”

“His idea?” said Ben.

“Mine,” said William.

I didn't know where to begin. How does one find a baby amongst a hundred thousand people if the baby was even still in-town. She might be at a farm out past Lincoln, or who knows. Back in them days, folks didn't go to a doctor unless their baby was sick.

It figured that someone in service to the rich was either the recipient of the child or the broker of the dirty deal.

“Yeah, just breaks her heart,” my lie would start out typically, “My sister and her husband can't make any babies.”

Mostly I'd get “shame, that,” or the suggestion of prayer. But I kept on about to anyone I'd meet at the country club or waiterin' private parties. Just hoping for a break.

Dearest Charlotte, Every night I pray to the good Lord that he will guide me to your baby girl and that he will watch over her and keep her safe till we find her. Keep faith and prayer yourself. I have told not a soul of this so we must make the most of just our faith alone. I fear I have nothing of substance to report again this week, but I am tirelessly searching by any means I know. I hope that you are well and healthy. Affectionately, H. Newman

Dear Mr. Newman, I am well enough, or so I feign to those around me so they may see fit to grant me some freedom from this cage. I smile and speak not of my child nor of my desire to leave this house. I even decline offers to walk on the grounds or even to sit on the terrace in the improving weather. This that they may be suspicious of my reclusiveness and unwittingly encourage what I secretly desire, to run from this place never to look back. It truth, I am in despair with each breath my baby takes that I am not with her. My pantomime of gaiety is wearying. To smile when I wish to scream takes my every strength and there is little sleep at night to reclaim it. I apologize good sir for burdening you with my troubles when you, my lone ally, need good spirits to see you through this task. Again I thank you to my deepest for your kind endeavors on my behalf. I will be forever in your debt. I wish you good health and good fortune. Yours, Charlotte A. Millard

Olaf stayed while I read the letter.

“Did I forget your nickel?” I asked the young boy.

“No.”

“What is it then.”

“I might just be nothin'. But...”

“Yes?”

“There's this gentleman, this feller. I seen him once or twice when delivering milk with papa. That Millard place, the place where your lady lives, where I take these letters. It's a queer thing, I'll tell ya.”

“Yes, yes.”

“He don't knock on the door. He reaches down under this bush and gets him an envelope, sorta fat like. Then he just walks off. Don't you think that's queer?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Olaf looked sheepish.

“Only cause, well my papa says maybe it's important to... you know, what you're lookin' for.”

“Lookin' for?”

“The lady's baby.”

“Why you dirty little. Did you read our letters? Those was meant to be secret.”

“Of course I did.”

I grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

“Please mister, you woulda read 'em too if you was me. Wouldn't ya?”

I had to laugh. “Yes, I spect I would sooner or later. You musta been scared to tell me this.”

“Yeah I was, but papa said I had to tell ya.”

“So you told you father about this.”

“I had ta, I had to tell someone and if you can't trust your old pa...”

“Anyone else?” I said.

“No sir, Honest, no one.”

“Okay Olaf, you're forgiven. This fella you saw. What'd he look like?”

“Don't know, he was covered up good. It was still pretty dark too. I'll tell you this though: Everytime I seen him, it was the first of the month. And you know what tomorrow is?”

“April Fool's Day.”

To be continued...

The Jewels of Nebraska, Episode 9 -Secret Letters

Click here to start this series from the beginning.

“How did you know my name?” said Charlotte. “Did they tell you about me?”

“Who? No.”

The surprise had disarmed her fight to break away from me and run out into the freezing cold. The pain left her face for moment as she searched my eyes for a flush of recognition.

In the light of the lantern now on the floor of the barn, Charlotte did not look very much like the girl I had seen at the train station many months before. Here face was red and swollen, her nose running and shiny. Her hair was falling from her bun in wind-blown tufts. Her eyes, those hazel eyes, though dimmer, sadder and rimmed with sleepless nights, still sparkled like candles.

I must have been staring.

“What's the matter with you sir? You are too bold in your gaze, to speak not of accosting me as you did.”

She wiped her eyes and smoothed her hair. I came to my manners and offered my kerchief. When she took it she looked me in the eye and paused.

“It's you! The rude young man, from the station.”

“You told me your name.”

“And you remembered? You remembered me?”

“Of course.”

“I'm rather embarrassed.”

“Do you live here?”

“They have me... I'm staying here, yes.”

Charlotte tightened the jacket around her, a men's coat. One of the party guest's it looked like.

“And you're..."

"A waiter, for the party.”

"You don't talk like a waiter."

"I can when I need to, but this here's just you and me."

“There's certainly no one out here that needs your service.”

“Sides you?” 

She pretended not to hear me.

The wind whistled outside. She got up and looked out through a gap in the door.

“Whatever you was looking for... whoever, it'll be a might better to catch your death in milder weather.” I said.

“I'm not so sure.”

“I can't leave less I know you're warm and safe, you know that don't you?” I hugged my own shoulders to it make it more than obvious I didn't have a coat on. "It ain't exactly balmy for me neither."

She tried to hand my kerchief back, but I put up a hand.

“You should go first,” I said. “I'm already fired, sure enough, but walking in with you wouldn't improve your situation none, whatever that is.”

“My situation is none of your concern,” She said.

“I don't recall ask'n.”

She turned back to the door. I didn't see the tear until she wiped it away.

“If you knew, the truth about me, you might not stare at me with such...”

“I been to church enough to know judgin' is for the Almighty alone.”

“These folks have been to church quite a bit and they do it rather soundly.”

“Well candles are in church all week, don't make em saints though. Who are these folks that judge you. Parents? Kin?”

“I'm afraid I've become a bore. We should let you get on to your job.”

“Ain't no matter now,” I said.

“Oh dear, I'm sorry for that. Please accept my apologies if my errant behavior has cost you your job.”

“Well, I hope my behavior back at the train station didn't cause you too much embarrassment. I didn't know rich folk very well back them, before I started waitin' tables.”

“It's quite alright, Mr...”

She extended her hand.

“Newman.” I took her hand and kissed it, like I'd seen gentlemen do at the country club. “If there's ever anything I can do for you Miss. It seems like... Well, like maybe you could use a friend.”

She turned without another word. I watched her brace against the wind as she went towards the house. I waited till she was inside before I followed, and went in the kitchen entrance. I fetched my jacket without paying heed to the butler--who was loudly firing and insulting me with twenty dollar words--and went on home.

My kin didn't take much delight in my fine mood over the next few days. I was worse than after the train station. I was “walking on air”, as they say. I had found my Charlotte, still without a ring on her finger. They told me I didn't have a chance but it was no matter.

I thought of going back to the house where she was stayin' but I knew I wouldn't see her. I had seen those folks plenty of times at the country club. They must have left her at home for some reason. I didn't spect her situation would improve none with a poor boy like me hanging around.

I took a break behind the kitchen of the country club enjoying the nice weather: thirty-five degrees. The sun was out and water was dripping off the eaves.

“Hey, you Newman?”

I turned to see a young lad, about twelve.

“Yeah, I'm Newman.”

He looked at me funny. “You sure, you're Newman?”

“Who's asking?”

“The lady said you were a tall, good looking fella. You ain't too short but...”

“What lady?”

“I deliver milk, I just ride and run the bottles to the door. I'm gunna drive my own wagon one day.”

“What lady!?”

“Hang on a minute mister, I had to walk half cross town to get here.”

“What Lady?”

“This fancy lady big house on Dewey, gave me a gold pin to get you this.”

He handed me an envelope and my kerchief neatly folded on top of it. I put it to my lips hoping for whiff of her perfume but the smell of sour milk from the boy's pocket overpowered any, if there was.

I handed him a couple pennies.

“Golly gee,” he said with mock enthusiasm.

“Can you be here tomorrow?”

“If you can find a nickle in your pocket before then.”

“Yeah, okay ya little...

I stole off to the privy and opened the envelope. Her script was imperfect and hurried. Strong, but erratic strokes cried out from the page.

Dear Mr. Newman, I trust the bearer of of this letter has returned to your handkerchief. Thank you for it's use and for your kind assistance on the 11th of March. Please forgive my immodest presumption Mr. Newman. My situation, as you called it, is desperate and warrants a deviation from social graces. You had offered your help and I have decided to place my trust in you. Forgive my ambiguity. For now, I must test the waters of both your character and that of our courier whom, if he is reading this shall receive no more chocolates or jewelry to pawn! I anticipate your favorable reply and utmost discretion. In your trust, Charlotte A. Millard

I was over the moon. The woman I had dreamed of had sent me a secret letter. It was like a dime novel! But I was filled with worry and unrest as well. If any one had wronged her, I could think of nothing other that socking them on the jaw, no matter their station, height or girth.

The mystery of her predicament made for a sleepless night. Many drafts of my response rendered but a short one.

Dearest Charlotte, I am at your disposal, and discretion. Please advise how I may be of assistance. No task is too imposing. With affection, H. Newman

Dear Mr. Newman. I fear any standing of respect I have in your eyes will diminish markedly when I confess my sins. I must be honest in any case. I write this with trepidation, please pardon the shaking of my hand. If, after hearing my sins, you decide not to continue our association, I will understand and release you from any offer of assistance. I will be most appreciative of your continued discretion. In my home of Philadelphia, I was engaged to a man who took egregious liberties despite my protests and left me bearing his child. He would not acknowledge his responsibility, or honor his intentions to marry me. I confronted him publicly to my family's great embarrassment. I was quickly and secretly sent to live with distant relatives here in Omaha. Even as you saw me on the day of my arrival, I was two months with child. I gave birth to my daughter the following winter. My daughter was taken from me only days after her birth. My relatives will not tell me where she was taken. Attempts to find her on my own have caused my relatives to keep me effectively a prisoner in their home. Gilded though it may be, I am but a bird in a cage. My father's funds of support give them no incentive to release me or allow me to find my baby. The loss of my daughter has left a hole in my heart I cannot describe the depth of. It is my only desire to have her back in my arms. Every day I am without her becomes more dark and hopeless. Mr. Newman, if you are still willing to help me, I must warn you the road ahead will be difficult. Though I come from a family of means, I myself cannot not offer you any monetary compensation, but a few personal items and my eternal gratitude. I am very sorry if I have allowed you to think higher of me than I deserve. I cannot treat you dishonorably and hope for honor from you. Please forgive me. I eagerly and anxiously await your reply. In your trust, Charlotte A. Millard

I felt like I'd been kicked by a horse. How could this be? I had created a Charlotte in my head based on a few quick minutes, that didn't exist. I wanted to except it but it just sat there like a lump in my throat.

Olaf walked up to the rear door of the huge house with a flat of milk bottles that clinked together as he walked. He tried his best to be quiet in the predawn hour, not for fear of waking anyone, but of one person in particular. He set the flat on the step and tip-toed away. A voice above him froze him in his tracks.

“Any word?” Whispered Charlotte.

“No Ma'am.”

“What? It's been two days.”

“Sorry, He hasn't given me anything.”

“Go find him.”

“Awe, It's clear across town.”

“Please!”

“ I gotta go lady.”

Olaf ran back down the walk and to his father's wagon. Charlotte closed the window knowing she would be holding her breath for another 24 hours.

I sat in a tavern with my father and my brother. I was practically crying into my beer.

“You're an idiot, a fool,” My brother said.

“Go ahead, kick a man while he's down.”

“You are! I have to listen to you go on about Charlotte for month after month after month. Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte. It's all you ever talk about. We can't even talk about baseball without it ending up being about ever-lovin' Charlotte.

“It's February Bill, who wants to talk baseball?”

“Then, by the grace of the good Lord, you find her, so I think: maybe now I won't have to hear about Charlotte no more. But no, you were even worse. Now she asks your help, what for? You won't say, but she needs you and you're cryin because she ain't what you thought; how? You won't say.” Bill dragged his beer off the bar. “I'm going to go and find someone who wants to talk about somethin else, hell, politics, anything!” He walked off.

It was a good minute before my father said a word.

“Your mama. Prettiest girl in Omaha.” He took a long sip of his beer. “Now, but not then so much. She had three sisters. Everyone wanted to dance with 'em, but she was standing alone whenever the fiddle played. I might not had the nerve to talk to her otherwise. Now I always thought she was a looker. After she had a fella tellin' her she was sweet lookin, giving her ribbons for her hair and nice things, everyone else thought so too.”

I rubbed my forehead into my palm. “I don't see how...”

“Yeah, it's plain that you don't.” He said less kindly. “A woman is how you treat her.” He lit his pipe and started to leave. “I don't know what this girl did, but whatever it was, it wasn't to you. You got everyone convinced she walks on water the way you talk, cept yourself seems?”

“Do you have any idea vat time eet is?” said the man at the door. “Ver up at four o'clock delifring milk ya know.”

“Is Olaf here?”

“Olaf?”

“Who is it pa?”

“Some crazy man.”

I handed the young boy an envelope with one hand and a quarter with the other.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“Yeah, sure thing.” yawned Olaf.

Dearest Charlotte, I will help you. I will do it for no sum, but the honor of seeing you hold your daughter again. Affectionately, H. Newman

Continued in Episode 10

The Jewels of Nebraska, Episode 8 -A Date With the Chickens

Click to start this series from the beginning. 

The rolling white crests of the Colorado river dodged boulders below the road they traveled on. The walls of the canyon were so steep the whole sky looked like a stripe of light blue in a shaded green. She couldn't figure how it was the trees weren't falling into the river growing in places that were more vertical than not. It was beautiful, nothing like Ruby had ever seen.

She didn't give a damn.

All she could think about was her brother, left back by the road a couple days ago now. It was her bright idea to run off, now look at the mess they were in. The county orphanage didn't seem near so unreasonable now.

There were no guard rails or nothin' along the cliffside road. Only good steering and brakes to keep the car from going over the side.

They met a car coming the other way at a narrow spot in the road. A young couple. After some negotiatin', Caleb agreed to drive in reverse to find a spot where the two cars could pass. He guided their vehicle backwards in the shaking mirror. Ruby tried not to think about the steep ledge.

She looked into the eyes of the young woman in the car they were facing. She wished they could see Ruby's sad story in her eyes and rescue her with them to Hollywood—at least that's where she decided they were from.

Truth be told, the other girl wasn't any happier that the kidnapped runaway. The two stared at each other with blank faces and hollow eyes. Maybe if, they were a little closer and maybe if that old windshield was a little less dusty, she mighta seen that lady's red eyes and the bruises round her neck.

Caleb cursed continually. He cursed in that Christian way that ain't cursin' but still is to anyone that can tell it from Shinola.

The truck lurched suddenly backwards. The left rear wheel went over the side. Ruby shrieked instinctively jumped from her seat, folded down the wind shield glass and climbed out on the engine cowling, it was hot under her hands and knees. The truck tipped back but as Ruby climbed out on the front fender, it settled back. She was about to jump off when confronted by a chorus of voices.

“NO, DON'T!”

“Don't move young lady.” Said a voice behind her. The groom had jumped from his car and walked towards Ruby with his hand held out.

“For heaven's sake child.” pleaded Ester.

Ruby's eye's found Caleb's. He had a hateful look hanging behind his mustache. For once he had nothin' to say.

Ruby glared back wondering if he was thinking about the same thing she was: the night before.

“Sit like a lady girl,” Caleb grumbled from across the campfire.

Ruby's knees were already tight together but she spread her dress down over her knees to appease his temper. It seemed nothing could keep him from his foul moods, still she felt like she had to try.

“Don't be shooting me that willful look girl.”

“But I didn't even...”

“Don't back talk! What kinda mama raised such barn-mannered little hussy.”

Ruby raged inside, but bit her tongue. He would sure beat her if she spoke up.

“I bet I know what type your mama was: little hussy, big hussy, praise be oh Lord.”

Ruby couldn't take no more. She jumped to her feet, her eyes all angry red. She could have crushed a med-cine bottle in her teeth right then.

“My mama was... is... she used to... She's is a real lady you know. You don't know nothin' bout manners anyhow you old... clodhopper.”

Caleb shot up from where he sat, stepped clean over the fire and lifted ruby up by her arm. He unfolded his pocket knife, nearly dropping it in his shaking hand, and cut the twine that tethered her ankle to the log she was sitting on and tied her hands together in front.

“You 'bout to learn some manners girl.”

He marched her into the woods towing her by the wrists. Ruby flashed a glance back at Ester who looked straight ahead at the fire, her coffee cup frozen and inch from her lips.

A good hike from the campsite Caleb found a fallen tree around waist high. He yanked Ruby over it with the rope that bound her hands and lashed the free end to her ankles leaving little room between the two and the girl draped over the log like a saddle on a horse.

I had taken my belt off to discipline my Ruby once or twice... no it were just once. It was terrible. I didn't have the stomach for it. Fortunately, just the mention of my belt did the trick after that one time.

From that once, she knew well enough the sound; Caleb's belt slapping through the belt loops when he yanked it off. Ruby bit her lip and let the pain come out in silent tears and a secret drop of blood in her mouth.

HE beat her a good ten times with that belt. Caleb was enraged by her silence. He dropped his belt put his hand stiffly to her backside for all he was worth. Finally, the cries escaped Ruby's lips. Caleb's hand came to rest on her cotton dress, he was panting quivering. He looked upon her as if frozen in a trance.

Ruby tried in vane to wipe her eyes and nose against her bound arms. The rough bark dug into her stomach. Caleb suddenly turned and walked away.

“Where you?... Please,” Ruby gasped. “please cut me loose? I can't hardly breathe!”

“When you've learned your place girl,” Caleb said. "When you joyfully honor and obey.”

Ruby looked upside down at his boots stomping back to the campsite. The knots held fast.

“Girl, you stay right where you are,” Caleb said. His voice was as unsteady as the teetering truck.

“My name ain't 'girl' you crazy old man,” Ruby said. She smiled right at him and jumped off the front fender of the truck and landed with the grace of a ballet dancer.

“NOO!” hollered Ester and Caleb together. The truck rocked back until it hit on the rear axle and rested more stable like.

She stood on the road with her arms folded proudly. “My name's Ruby, and don't you forget it.”

She knew she was going to get a beating that night and sure enough, she did, worse than before. Cept it didn't seem near so bad when she remembered the pee-in-his-pants look Caleb had on his face when he thought for sure she had sent him over the Cliff.

Ruby didn't realize she had it better than the young bride in the other car. She also didn't know that young lady left that heavy handed husband when they returned to Parump, Nevada—not Hollywood as it turned out. It was all because of a defiant young girl she met on the road one day.

They would meet again one day, but of course she didn't know that either.

Few mansions in Omaha were as big and grand as the one that stood before me. It was bitter cold with a light snow and a steady wind. A hot humid kitchen, though I dreaded them most other times, seemed a might welcome thing right then.

My job waiting tables at the country club had got me all sorts of work at big parties and weddings. I'd even quit my job at the flour mill. My Pa and Bill laughed at me whenever I left the house in my tuxedo lookin' waiter get-up. I didn't pay them no heed though. They knew I was bringing in more money than they were.

I never stopped thinking of Charlotte. It had been over two years since I'd seen them beautiful eyes at the train station, but they were like a painting in my mind. I was losing hope I'd ever see her again. She probably went back to wherever she came from on that fancy rail car.

The butler began shouting as soon as I walked in the back entrance and stomped the snow off my boots. He seemed to have it in for me the rest of the night, working me harder than any of the other waiters.

“I don't like the look of this one,” He said in a haughty English accent every time I entered the kitchen. I began to get nervous and started dropping things, forgetting things, and he just yelled at me more. I didn't much like the look of him either, though I couldn't say exactly why.

It didn't take him long to decide who to send to the chicken barn when a kitchen maid dropped a whole tray of eggs. Me of course, not the clumsy girl who'd broken them.

I reached for my coat in the closet.

“If you're going to take so long as to require a parka, you needn’t return,” said the butler.

Tempted as I was, I left my jacket on it's hook and headed out into the cold.

I had barely made it halfway to the barns when I saw a figure trodding and limping through the snow and falling down every few feet. I thought it was strange, but kept my appointment with the chickens until I heard it during a lull in the wind.

Crying.

“Hey there,” I yelled when I got closer. “You okay?”

The woman reeled around nearly falling again in her surprise. I raised the lantern high, but she was too far away, I could only see her outline against the snow in the moonless night.

“Ma'am, Should you ought to be someplace warm? This weather could kill a steer.”

The woman backed away from me, soon falling again. She got up and ran towards nothin' in particular it seemed.

“Wait, why you running? I'm only trying to...” I darted after her.

“Go away, you can't stop me, I must find her.”

“All you're gunna find out here is your death lady.”

I caught up to her and spun her around to me. All I could see was a flurry of fists mixed in with the snow.

“Hey now! Just wait a minute.”

“Leave me be!”

She turned and tried to run again. Before I knew what had happened I had grabbed the poor girl and hoisted her over my shoulder. All I could do really. She wasn't about to listen to reason and with one hand on my lantern I couldn't figure another way to get her to safety.

“You'll freeze! No kiddin', this cold will kill you... and me, if we don't ”

“No! Let me down!”

Her fists pounded my back as I carried her towards the closest structure I knew wouldn't get fired for entering with a thrashing woman on my shoulder: the barn.

I set her on a wood bench and held her down for a good minute while she struggled to get up. I kept my head down. Though I had her arms under control, her head was thrashing every which way.

“Leave me be! I've got too... She's... I've got to...”

“You gunna promise not to run back out in that cold?”

“No, no!”

“Then we got ourselves kind-of a standoff.”

“A 'standoff' what does that even mean!”

Her fight had tempered some, but I kept a good hold of her and hunkered down low beside her all the same.

“I guess you don't read no cowboy stories do ya.”

"Certainly not!”

“It means as long as you keep fighting and don't promise me on your mother's name not to run, I can't let you go.”

“Well alright then, I promise.”

“You promise what?”

“I promise on my mother's good name, God rest her soul, I will not run out into the cold.”

“Okay,” I said.

I let go of her shoulders and sat back on my feet. She was a young woman, though her face was red and dry from the cold. She brushed her ragged hair from her eyes.

I near fell over and turned white as a ghost.

“Charlotte?” I said.

Continued in Episode 9