The Mail Order Midwife's Secret (Wanted: Wives In The West 2) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Thirty year old Millie Wallace quietly walked out of the pregnant woman’s room, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. She was physically and mentally exhausted. Eighteen hours had passed since she’d arrived for the birth and if it hadn’t been for the woman’s sister, Abigail, switching off with her once in a while, she might have collapsed in a chair and missed the whole thing. “I’m just going to rest my eyes,” Millie said, passing her in the narrow hallway. “Holler at me if anything changes.” She carefully lowered her petite frame into the chair just outside the room and rested her head against the wall—her long, brown locks acting as a pillow for her.

Midwifing was an escape for Millie—a way to break free from the clutches of her husband, Henry, who didn’t mind her being gone if it meant she’d be earning more money for him to gamble with later that night. At first, she was heartbroken helping deliver other women’s babies, after being told she was sterile. But now, she was grateful that God hadn’t sent her a child that Henry could beat and humiliate in his nightly drunken state.

Millie relaxed and leaned her head back, taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes, but was unable to fall asleep. Abigail had been knitting a beautiful blanket for her sister’s baby, and Millie picked it up to see how much progress had been made between shifts. A folded publication fell out of the knitting bag when she lifted it and Millie picked it up to see what it was—a mixture of boredom and curiosity.

“Hearts and Hands,” she said aloud, reading the cover. She’d seen a couple of matrimonial columns in the local Kansas Gazette, but never an entire publication devoted to men seeking wives. Quickly thumbing through it, she saw page after page of men who looked like they’d make fine husbands. Millie tossed it into the bag in disgust. She didn’t trust the photographs and promises of a good life that were written under them.

From her experience, even a snake could have the most beautiful eyes—the sweetest demeanor—and still bite you without warning. That’s what had happened with Henry. Maybe Millie had just been blinded by her desperation to get away from an abusive father who beat her and her mother, but at the time, Henry had appeared kind and gentle. His deep, brown eyes that she once hoped could swallow her up in a cocoon of safety and love had become nothing more than a dark prison she couldn’t escape.

She blamed herself for rushing into marriage with him, but Millie couldn’t stand her home life and had prayed to be rescued from it. She initially thought she’d get to invite her mother to live with her and Henry, but he turned out to be ten times worse than her father, so she didn’t extend the invitation. With her father, it was just the occasional outburst and backhand, with empty apologies later. Henry used his fist and his brute strength, and he was never sorry for what he did to her. In fact, it was all
her
fault for making him act that way.

He wasn’t just abusive, either. He was a petty criminal and a tinhorn gambler, addicted to whisky and mean as a hornet - whether he was drunk
or
sober. At least her father had been a successful businessman in town, able to provide for the family, even if he did put on a façade for the public that he was a fine, loving husband and father. It wasn’t until after the marriage that Millie discovered the truth about Henry – the fact that he only saw her as a meal ticket and someone to take care of his needs at home. The abuse had worsened over the years and now, she saw it as her lot in life—nothing she could do about it until the day she died.

The birth was getting closer now. Millie could hear the woman moaning louder and more frequently. Since she’d never be able to sleep, she picked up the Hearts and Hands publication again and started reading through each entry slowly, to pass the time. She imagined what life for the couples would be like. Her view on marriage and everlasting love had soured after what she’d witnessed and experienced all her life.

She startled at a loud banging on the front door of the woman’s house. “Millie!” Henry bellowed, causing her heart to race. “Where’s my money?” Henry was never happy when a birth lasted over twelve hours. He expected to have it in hand as soon as possible so he could spend it right away. Millie dropped the publication and rushed to the door, opened it quickly and stepped onto the porch.

She could tell he was already drunk, but she had to face him or he’d stand there for hours causing a scene. She couldn’t let the others see him like this, even though it was a well-known fact around town that he was a two-bit hustler. “The baby’s not here yet, Henry!” she said in a hushed voice. “I’ll bring you the money as soon as it’s born.” Millie tried turning him and nudging him toward his horse, a tactic that sometimes worked if he was in such a stupor that his boiling point had already passed. But she was wrong this time. Henry turned on her, grabbed her by the throat and slammed her up against the door.

His face was no more than an inch from hers. It was humid outside and the smell of Henry made Millie sick. He breathed right in her face, tilting her chin up so he could stare right into her eyes. “Now you listen to me,” he hissed. “Don’t you ever think of holding out on me, you hear? Because the day you
do
will be the day you
die
.” Henry’s grip loosened slowly as he released her throat. He spat onto the porch beside her, walked back to his horse and galloped off into the night.

Millie stood there clutching her raw neck, sobbing silently. She was always too terrified to cry in front of Henry. That just made him madder. She waited until the moment had passed and he had left before breaking down. “Dear Lord,” she wept, “please embrace me with your loving arms and help me find a way free from this evil man. I beg you.” It was a prayer she repeated often and she’d come to wonder if her prayers were even being heard anymore. Maybe once was all she got—the one prayer to help her get away from her father.

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 Mabel 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.