Foxy Statehood Hens and Murder Most Fowl Read online

  Her visitor plunged on, as if she were accustomed to folk ignoring her words.

  “I won’t expect to bring the pig to work with me, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’d even be willing to sell her to you, if you wanted to fatten her up and serve her for breakfast one fine morning.”

  “Serve her for breakfast?” Harriet said.

  The pig squealed and looked up at Harriet as if begging for her life.

  Harriet studied the pig and struggled with her conscience. To hire such a pretty young girl for a maid would put a true beauty in her hotel, one she would forever be compared with. She decided that for the first time in her life she would make a completely selfish decision. But she found it very hard to do, especially with the young woman’s hopeful eyes pleading silently.

  Harriet touched the ruffle at her throat, trying to find a kind way to say no. She glanced toward the door when it opened again and a tall well-dressed man strode in. He was slender with a middle-aged bulge near his waist. She recognized him as a hotel guest Uncle Richard liked to hobnob with. Her hand turned to ice and she dropped it to her side while color rose in her cheeks. Uncle Richard had said that Mr. Luther Bingham might be a potential beau for Harriet. But Harriet had no intention of allowing a man to pick her. Mr. Bingham was one of the new breed of railroad executives in Guthrie. This wasn’t the type of husband Harriet had in mind. He reminded her too much of Papa, down to his three-piece, wool worsted suit, complete with gold watch, chain and fob.

  Mr. Bingham swept his stylish derby off his balding head and moved his gaze from Harriet to Radine. Harriet’s heart sank. Just as she had foreseen, she became invisible in this young beauty’s presence. But she managed to gather her wits about her enough to nod good morning to Mr. Bingham. Then she turned back to deal with Radine. The task was suddenly much easier to handle. Saying No just seemed to trip off her tongue with an easy lie.

  “We have no positions available at this time. I am sorry. I wish you good luck elsewhere.”

  Hope died from Radine’s eyes and her expression glazed with a weary knowing. “I’m much obliged, ma’am,” Radine said. “I thank you for your civility. It was more than I expected.” She stepped through the door, head held high, with the pig trailing after her.

  Harriet’s heart sank with the heavy weight of guilt. She had never seen such dignity before, and suddenly she felt as if she had made a horrible mistake.

  “Thank God, that girl is gone,” Mr. Bingham said. “I apologize for her brass. She had no right to walk into this hotel, and especially in your presence.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind pigs, Mr. Bingham. I’ve never been around one before, but that one looked clean. I’ll admit however, it was quite an unexpected sight.”

  “It’s not the animal I was speaking of, Miss Harriet. It was that coarse scallywag of an orphan who had no right to step inside. Not with a lady present.”

  “She’s an orphan?” A sort of sickness drained through Harriet’s body. An orphan girl had needed a job, and she had turned her away. Was she becoming as cruel as her father had been? Harriet drew herself up to her full (and she thought ungainly) height of five feet nine inches. Petite was the style of the day.

  “Her manners seemed acceptable to me,” Harriet said.

  “Manners have nothing to do with decency. This young woman rode into town with tawdry women. You’re a gently bred lady who knows nothing of the roughness of the unsettled West. I’ll find your uncle and have him explain this embarrassing situation to you. I’m sure he’ll put it delicately.”

  Harriet, who was only now learning she had a rebellious bone in her body, was stunned by the mutinous ire that rose from deep in her soul.

  “My uncle lets me run my own affairs. I’m a woman of independent means, and I do as I please.” She noticed Mr. Bingham’s eyes flickered greedily at the words “independent means.” He wants a woman with money, Harriet thought. She frowned when the railroad executive moved a bit closer to her with an indulgent smile.

  “I am captivated by your spirit, Miss Harriet,” Mr. Bingham said.

  “What has Miss Morgan done that’s so horrible?” Harriet asked.

  It was a minute before Bingham answered. He took a deep breath and looked uncomfortable, but he finally spoke in an almost proprietary tone.

  “It’s the women she consorts with, my dear Harriet. It’s not a decent thing for me to tell you, but she rode into town with the hostesses from the White Elephant Dancehall. Those women are soiled doves.”

  * * *

  By the time Uncle Richard returned to the hotel with Mr. Bingham, Harriet had figured out what the term, “soiled dove,” meant. The thoughts of such sordid activities saddened her and caused a flush to rise to her cheeks, but she had made up her mind about hiring the orphan.

  Uncle Richard hurried Harriet up to their small, private sitting room. She sat straight-backed in a chair, annoyed at being made to feel as if she were a child who needed instruction. She took charge of the conversation.

  “A young woman stopped by to ask about the chambermaid position,” she said. “She looked like a hard worker with a good attitude. I have decided to hire her.”

  Harriet had never seen her amiable uncle look so miserable. Unlike her stiff and overly proper father, Uncle Richard always seemed to have a smile on his face. Now he was solemn as an undertaker at a preacher’s funeral. He spoke almost formally.

  “Mr. Bingham told me about young Miss Radine wanting the job.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I greatly fear that hiring that unfortunate young woman would cause misunderstanding and hard feelings with the townsfolk, especially with the ladies.”

  “Radine didn’t appear to be disreputable, Uncle, and obviously she’s trying to better herself.” Harriet pressed her lips together for a minute trying to form just the right words to convince Uncle Richard that she was right. She purposely didn’t mention the pig on a rope. “How long has this pretty young girl worked as a… a… dancehall girl?”

  Uncle Richard shifted uneasily in his chair. His face looked as if he too were suffering from a guilty conscience. “She doesn’t work at the dancehall. She and her Pa were traveling to the Run in a rickety wagon pulled by a worn out horse. Her Father died on the trail and so did the horse. The wagon had to be abandoned. The White Elephant group just happened on to her. The women helped her bury her father and gave her a ride on in to Guthrie.”

  “Then why is she being judged so harshly?”

  “This is a hard land for men and harder still for women. Our ladies have to work like oxen, suffer grief and trouble with a brave heart, and often even have too little to eat. The one thing our women folk have is their pride, and that pride is fierce. In the Territory you’re often tarred with the same brush as your friends.”

  Harriet sat a bit straighter. “I think it’s admirable that Miss Radine wouldn’t cut those who had shown her kindness.”

  “No use getting up on your high-horse, Harriet. I don’t make the rules in this land, I just have to abide by them.” Uncle Richard’s graying handlebar mustache trembled with his distress. Harriet knew the man was uncomfortable with his decision. He was just afraid of how Radine’s associates would affect the profits of their hotel. And Harriet had to admit that she cared about money, too. So she put off hiring the young woman.

  * * *

  Harriet tossed about in her bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Guilt tormented her. Jealousy had kept her from hiring a woman who needed a job. When she overcame that temptation, greed had reared its ugly head and caused her to hesitate once again. She was so ashamed of herself it was all she could do not to rise in the middle of the night to correct her awful mistake.

  Suddenly a voice cut through the darkness.

  “I need a bed!”

  Harriet’s eyes flew wide open. It was the orphan’s voice! Was it a dream or a haunting, she wondered. She pulled her dressing gown around her shoulders and stepped into her private sitting room.

  “I need a bed
!”

  Harriet managed to light an oil lamp before the door flew open and Radine stormed into Harriet’s suite. A man wearing a badge followed close behind carrying someone in his arms.

  “Some dirty dog bashed in Ida Mae’s head and she needs a bed.” Radine shouted the words without hesitating. She strode through to the bedroom door as if she owned the place. “Here.” She directed the confused looking man who followed her to Harriet’s bed. “Put her down right here.”

  Harriet followed with the light. “Yes, put her down and get the doctor,” she said to the deputy who was hesitating to obey Radine.

  “Are you sure it’s all right? What will Mr. Lauren say?”

  “Just do as you’re told,” Harriet replied firmly. She set the lamp on the bed table and touched the woman’s forehead. From the victim’s flashy red dress Harriet knew this was one of the soiled doves from the dancehall.

  “What happened?” she asked Radine.

  “Someone tried to kill Ida Mae,” Radine said. “Sure as God made little green apples.”

  The injured woman mumbled something and Harriet leaned closer.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Can you tell us who did this to you?”

  The woman murmured again. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hello, dear,” Harriet said kindly. “Please try and tell us who hit you.”

  Ida Mae’s eyes slewed to Radine. “Saw,” she managed.

  “Saw who?” Radine asked. “We’re listening. Who was it you saw?”

  Ida Mae’s eyes fluttered shut. “Hundred,” she said.

  Radine looked at Harriet. “Must have been more than one man,” she said. “But she’s all mixed up, couldn’t have been a hundred.”

  “Four…” Ida Mae said. Her lips moved again, but it seemed to be all she could manage. “Four.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Two,” Ida Mae said, and then stopped making an effort.

  “It doesn’t matter how many, Ida Mae, give us a name,” Radine said.

  But Ida Mae seemed satisfied with what she had said and quit trying to utter more words.

  “Must be out of her mind,” Radine said. “It don’t make no sense.”

  “She was trying to tell us something important, I think,” Harriet said. “But the wrong words came out.” Then another thought occurred to her and she turned to Radine.

  “Why did you bring a… a… an injured woman from the dancehall into my room? And at this time of night. You should be in bed. Have you taken a job in that disreputable place?”

  “No ma’am I haven’t,” Radine said stiffly. “In fact I was in bed, but along about midnight I got The Bad Feeling telling me that something was wrong with Ida Mae. It was almost like she was calling me inside my head. So I went to look for her. I always pay attention to The Bad Feeling.”

  Harriet stared at the girl. “Whatever do you mean by the bad feeling? And you heard her calling you? Where was she?”

  “Oh, it weren’t real words—just this knowing came into my head—it happened before on the night my Ma died. I was only eight then. My Pa told me I had the second sight. Fey, he called it. The Bad Feeling always lets me know when trouble is about.”

  It was a minute before Harriet could answer.

  “Well, where did you find Ida Mae? And why on earth did you bring her to me?”

  “At first I couldn’t find her. So I fetched City Deputy Marshall Ben Daniels and he looked for her. Finally he found her down in the tunnel and the closest door was into your hotel.”

  “The tunnel? What tunnel?” Harriet asked.

  “Why, the one under your hotel that leads to the dancehall and to Reeves Brothers Casino and a few other places. Didn’t you know about the tunnel?”

  “I certainly did not.” Harriet sucked in a breath and straightened her back. How could such a thing go on right under her nose? Did Uncle Richard know? She wondered.

  “It’s used for drainage and such. And of course businessmen find it right handy to visit certain places without their wives’ knowledge. Deputy Daniels didn’t want me going down there with him, but I went anyway. That’s where we found poor Ida Mae. Someone had knocked her in the head.”

  Dr. Johnson and Uncle Richard entered the room led by Deputy Daniels. Harriet heard Uncle Richard suck in his breath when he saw Ida Mae.

  “That’s Ida Mae Mulligan who works at White Elephant Dancehall. She can’t stay here. What will people think? Why, the womenfolk will make their husbands move to another hotel if that woman stays in your private suite. Even Mr. and Mrs. Hightower will leave.”

  The doctor raised his head from tending the injured woman. “If anyone moves this woman tonight she’ll die for sure. Probably will anyway.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle, but what else can we do? She will have to stay here.”

  “You’re as stubborn as your father.” Her uncle sank into a chair, a defeated man. Harriet blinked her surprise. She wasn’t anything at all like her father.

  * * *

  Ida Mae died in the night and was the first person buried in Guthrie’s new cemetery. Harriet stood with Uncle Richard, Radine, and a dozen other women from the White Elephant Dancehall. There was no preacher, so Harriet read a Psalm and had the group sing a hymn.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Harriet. Ida Mae loved the Psalms. She said her grandpa was a Baptist preacher, and believe it or not, she could recite any verse and give the text,” Radine said sadly.

  “But how did she.…” Harriet stopped, not knowing how to continue.

  “End up working in a dancehall?” Radine’s sunbonnet covered her eyes and Harriet couldn’t read the girl’s expression. “I asked her that very question and she just shrugged and said such things weren’t for my ears. And now someone has gone and murdered her.”

  Harriet studied the small and forlorn figure standing beside the fresh grave. Her heart twisted with pity. Radine’s red pig was tethered to a nearby tree. Harriet walked to the animal, reached down and scratched behind the animal’s droopy ears.

  “Pigs are nice animals,” Harriet said. She took a deep breath and continued speaking. “I’ve changed my mind and decided that you’re the very person I want and need as Hotel Grand’s new chambermaid.”

  Chapter 2

  Radine pounded nails with a grateful heart and a fierce determination. Everyone had their own idea of what a miracle might be. For Radine Morgan, her miracle was having a decent job. One she didn’t need to be ashamed of, nor hang her head over. An honest way to earn her daily bread was all she wanted. Ma and Pa must be smiling in heaven, Radine thought, feeling pleased at the idea.

  A cooling breeze whipped a golden red curl away from her face. Building a pigpen was an easy job and it was right pleasant to bask in Miss Harriet’s smile of approval, Radine thought. She bent to nail the last of piece of wood to the pig’s new home.

  “It’s so clever of you to know how to construct a pen. Women from the Territory seem able to cope with any problem,” Harriet said with an approving smile.

  Radine loved Harriet’s smile. She didn’t care that Harriet’s teeth protruded in front or that her upper lip was so short it showed all of her gums. She worshiped everything about Harriet. To Radine, Harriet was the most beautiful woman she had ever met. She was the first respectable woman in Guthrie who had treated her with dignity. She had also given her a job. And for that, Radine would worship Harriet forever.

  “It is that,” Radine answered, and then worry turned her smile into a frown. “Are you sure Mr. Richard will let me work in this here hotel? When you told him I was the new maid he looked crosser than a bear with a sore paw. Why, he wouldn’t hardly even answer you.”

  Radine didn’t mind being ignored herself, in fact she liked it. Sometimes the way men looked at her made her real nervous. Just leave her alone and let her work. That was all she wanted from life. But it troubled her that her presence had caused Harriet to be snubbed by her own flesh and blood.

  Harriet straightened to that ramrod position t
hat Radine so admired. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a lady just like Miss Harriet? She mused. Then Harriet gave another of those smiles that lighted the world—plain as it was—and Radine felt much better.

  “Uncle Richard will come around,” Harriet said, then frowned. “But how are we going to get Esther into her pen? I’ve decided to name this adorable pig Esther, after my favorite character in the Bible.”

  The Bad Feeling gripped Radine’s heart.

  “It ain’t never wise to name a farm animal—come winter we’ve got to butcher this here pig—what are you gonna say then? ‘Please pass me another piece of Esther?’”

  Harriet clutched her throat. “Oh, my goodness. What a dreadful thought.”

  The stricken expression in Miss Harriet’s eyes cut Radine to the heart. This was a hard land, and suddenly Radine knew that she would need to protect Miss Harriet. She hastened to change the subject.

  “We’re going to get this here pig into her pen by moving these boards a bit, put her inside, and then fasten them back with a little baling wire.” Radine matched her actions to her words, released the pig and set her inside her new home. “Now, she’s as snug as a bug in a rug. Your café will have more than enough potato peelings and scraps to fatten her up.” And my little cot in the kitchen is close enough that if someone tries to steal our porker, I’ll be out there in a flash. But Radine would not voice this concern—she didn’t want to worry Miss Harriet.

  Harriet reached over and scratched the pig’s head. “I just love her red color and her bent ears. Isn’t she just the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

  The Bad Feeling touched Radine’s heart once again. “Think of her as supper,” Radine suggested.

  * * *

  Radine had always slept with one eye open. It was necessary in Oklahoma Territory because evil men were everywhere. There were lots of good men too, but Radine didn’t trust many of these either. Pa had warned her to be sure she had a wedding ring on her finger before she let any man get too friendly with her person.