The Gamblers Daughter: 1883

I’d always been partial to children and their imaginations. The ability to explore all kinds of adventures they thought of and the places their minds could go.

I used to be that way once.

Now, I didn’t dream, didn’t go on adventures, or even see the twinkle in the eyes of the innocent. It all disappeared the night my mother died when I was ten. Now, here I was standing in the small room of the Ormsby County Courthouse next to a man my father sold me to in order to clear his debt.

Selling me could have been a strong word to use, seeing how it was illegal since I was twenty-two years of age, but that’s what it was no matter which way he spun it.

Pa told me the night before that he got into some trouble gambling again and that I had to do this or the man would kill us both. Knowing that my well being had never been of importance to him, it didn’t surprise me that it had come to this. Hell, if anything, I was surprised it took this long, and as awful as my life had been the last twelve years—I still liked living.

Before I could draw my attention back to the matter at hand, my fathers hot, bourbon-soured breath came over my shoulder, urging me to answer the round man in front of me and the stranger.

“Birdie, stop daydreamin’ and answer the man.”

My folks always used Birdie as a ‘term of endearment’ for me. A nickname that my Ma gave me because I always had my head in the clouds.

“I’m sorry, sir. Could you please say that one more time?”

Without missing a breath, the round man repeated himself. “Do you, ma’am, take this man whose right hand you now hold to be your lawful wedded husband; to love, honor, and obey him, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

Glancing at my father with every bit of the word no on my tongue, his eyes dared me to refuse. Casting my gaze down to my hands, I was quiet as a church mouse when I whispered. “I do.”

When we were pronounced husband and wife, we slipped simple bands on each other’s fingers, and walked out of the courthouse into the dead heat of the Western morning sun as my father retrieved my small trunk from our wagon. The sun was warm on my face and yet my body was still as cold as the night desert.

I climbed into my new husband’s buckboard while my father lifted my trunk to Mr. Boone, who placed it in the box and climbed into the seat next to me. My Pa walked to the front and stopped with his worn hat in his hands, almost like he was sorry, but I didn’t look at him.

“Birdie, I’m gon’ miss ya.” His southern drawl was thick with emotion, but I still couldn’t look at him.

I still kept my eyes cast forward, watching the doors swing back and forth on the saloon just ahead of us. “Goodbye, Pa. I pray you stay outta trouble now that you’ve sold everything you ever had.”

That’s when Pa placed his hat on his head and walked away without another word. The wagon jolted and moved forward and I headed to wherever the hell home was now with a ruthless blackguard who’d claimed me as payment for another man’s debt.

The ride was a wonderful view aside from the company, sagebrush spread out on both sides of us, stretching out ahead as far as my eyes could see. The mountains to my right were taller than the ones I’d seen along the trails from Texas. The tops weren’t rigid though, they were smooth curves. If I still had that imagination, I reckon I would have thought them to be sleeping giants, waiting for mankind to fall asleep so they could come out and play under the blanket of stars.

When we turned off the trail, the land changed to a greener lush pasture until we pulled up in front of a small two story house. It was white in color with two rocking chairs on the porch that reminded me of my mother. She loved sitting outside enjoying the breeze.

August Boone climbed down off the wagon and came around to my side, holding his hand out for me. “Ma’am.”

“Thank you, sir. But I’m a capable woman.” Ignoring his hand and his eyes, I stepped over the leaf springs and lowered my boot to the greasy hub and hopped down the rest of the way.

It was the first thing we had even said to each other since our words before God. I didn’t have the desire to talk to the man that was willing to kill me for my fathers debts, whether he was my husband or not.

As we turned to the small stairs there was a loud high pitch squeal from inside the house, making every hair on my arms stand at attention. When the door swung open, a small girl came running out of the house to the gambler next to me, and to my surprise, he softened instantly, lifting the girl up into his arms

“Nellie, this here is Birdie.” August turned toward me with the brown haired young’un in his arms. “She’s gonna be your new mama.”

Swallowing hard, I forced a smile upon my face to hide the surprise of a child. “Hey there, darlin’. It sure is a pleasure to meet ya.”

Nellie smiled with her tiny finger in her mouth, shyly playing with her teeth. “It’s a pleasure to meet ya’, Miss Birdie.”

August gave a low chuckle and hugged the girl in his arms, nodding his head towards her new home. “How about we head inside and Nellie here can show you around.”

I nodded and followed him and Nellie into the entry hall, stopping just past the threshold of the front door. The sitting room was just to the right of me with the kitchen to the left, and straight ahead in the hall was a set of stairs that led to the second floor. I never would have guessed someone so ruthless would have a real home and a daughter.

“You have a lovely home, Mr. Boone.”

“Thank you.” He lowered Nellie to the floor and gave her a pat on the head. “Alright, Darlin’. Won’t you show her the house while I bring her things inside.”

Nellie nodded and grabbed my hand, guiding me to the stairs. Once we got to the top we turned into the doorway of the bedroom just on the right. The room was small but there was enough space to move around easily.

Straight across from the door stood a dresser against the wall beneath the looking glass, to the right of the window. It had a strip of lace fabric laid over it with a wooden comb, straight razor and shaving brush, a small wooden box and a folded handkerchief. Next to it was a chair, and in the corner immediately to my left was the bed.

I put my hand to my chest as my heart began to race faster at the thought of having to share the bed with such a dangerous man. My prayers as a girl was to always share my innocence with a man I loved with him loving me back—not to a man like him.

Nellie tugged on my skirts, turning my attention back to her. “Miss Birdie, we best get downstairs and wash up for supper.” The little girl took my hand in hers again and led me back down the stairs as August walked in with my trunk, nodding politely to me as he passed us heading up.

When we got to the kitchen, a savory aroma of beef, carrots, potatoes and fresh bread filled the room, making my mouth water. It was small with a fancy looking stove and a table in the middle of the room with matching chairs. I hadn’t had a hearty meal in a mighty long time and my stomach growled in agreeance as an older rounded woman walked in.

“Don’t just stand there, child. Make yourself useful and set the table.” The woman barked the order to Nellie, who sprang into action, doing as she was told. Turning her attention to me, she rested her hands on her hips and scowled. “Augey told me ‘bout you. You know how ta’ cook?”

I cleared my throat and stepped forward, feeling like a child in trouble. “Yes, ma’am, I know how to cook.”

With a pleased smile on her face, she wiped her hands on her apron and clapped them on my upper arms. “Well, how ’bout that, Nellie. We finally got us another useful pair of hands ’round here.”

Relief washed over me as her and Nellie laughed lively and unapologetically.

“Sounds like y’all are havin’ a helluva time in here.” August scooped Nellie up into his arms, carrying her over to the table with the set of plates. Leaning down for her to reach, he moved patiently around the table as she placed them one by one.

An apron hit me in the chest, turning my attention back to the round woman as I caught it. “Put that on and get the food out of the oven, I’ll get the rest of it done.”

By the time we all finished dinner, I learned that the woman was August’s mother, Miss. Gretta. Nellie was six years of age and she loved nothing more than running about behind the house and loved fishing in the crick at the back of the property by the treelines.

Mr. Boone carried his lively child up the stairs and I insisted on helping his mother clean up the supper dishes. As we stood at the dishpan, I stared blankly into the greasy water, gripping a heavy plate so tight my fingers ached.

I tried taking my time doing everything I could to prolong what was coming. It was a fearful thought to share something so sacred with someone you loved, let alone with a man my father sold me to, and the thought frightened me so much that I couldn’t swallow from how dry my mouth became…

Miss Gretta stopped scrubbing the last plate and set it in the rinse water. “You’re gon’ break that dish if you hold any tighter, darlin’.” Her voice had a teasing edge to it, but a motherly one none the less.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” I muttered, splashing some water over the plate and setting it on the drying cloth next to the bin. “Just…got a lot on my mind, I reckon.”

She wiped her wet hands down the front of her apron and turned her full bulk toward me, leaning against the sturdy counter, giving me a sorrowful look. “I see you lookin’ at that doorway like the devil’s waitin’ at the top of them stairs.”

My face went hot in a flash and I lifted my hands to my cheeks to soothe the burn with my wet hands.

“Don’t go hidin’ your face from me,” Miss Gretta groaned, reaching out and giving my forearm a firm, rough squeeze. “Look here. You’re a grown woman, and you ain’t simple. You know what a marriage bed means , but I don’t figure you know what to expect.”

I shook my head slowly. “My mother died before she could tell me anything of the sort,” I whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know what to expect, Miss Gretta. I’m scared outta my wits.”

She sighed heavily, grabbed my hand, leading me to the table, and we sat down beside each other in the creaky chairs. “Well, I ain’t your mother, and I ain’t gonna paint ya a pretty picture with sugar on top. Men are built with a hunger in ’em. It’s just the way the Almighty put ’em together, like a horse that needs to run or a dog that needs to hunt. Augey’s a good lad—he’s my son and I know I raised him right—but he’se still a man. When that lamp goes out tonight, he’s gonna expect what he paid for, what the law says is his.”

I swallowed hard as a new fear shot through my being, making me shiver like I was freezing cold on what felt like the hottest night of the year.

“This ain’t somethin’ folks talk about unless it’s the soiled doves at the saloons. But I am gonna tell ya everything you need to know,” Miss Gretta continued, her hand tapping my arm in what was supposed to be comfort, but my skin crawled too fiercely. “The first time is gonna feel rough, but it’s somethin’ you just gotta endure to get to the next mornin’. Keep your nightgown on, your eyes shut, and you think about this kitchen, or the garden I’ll teach you to plant come spring, or that little girl sleepin’ down the hall who needs a mama. It’s over quick enough if you don’t go fightin’ it.”

“Does it…does it stay that way?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“It’s like washin’ clothes or kneading dough. It’s just a chore a wife does to keep the peace and her house together. My August ain’t a cruel man, Birdie. He won’t mistreat ya, but you gotta give him his due so he can get some sleep and work the land tomorrow.”

Dropping my hand into my lap, firmly patting my shoulder, she stood and walked back to the dishpan.

“Now, go on up there, keep your dignity about ya, and get it behind you. Tomorrow mornin’ we got bread to bake.”

I stood and dried my hands on the apron as I untied it and hung it on the hook. Walking out of the kitchen I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, leaning my back against the carved banister.

The fear in my chest wrapped around my innards like a leather strap, getting tighter and tighter by the second.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, catching the scent of the wildflowers in the vase that sat on the wall shelf next to me. I tried to slow my racing heart, taking one slow breath after another, to find that old imagination of mine, to pretend I was a thousand miles away on a trail back to Texas. Where I was free.

Forcing my eyes open, I took one last deep, ragged breath, and took the stairs as slowly as I could. Each creak and pop of the wood beneath me sounded as loud as a pistol shot in the quiet house. When I reached the top, my heart was knocking something fierce against my chest, winding me entirely.

For a second, my hand hovered over the cold brass doorknob, hearing him rustling about on the other side of the door. Everything that his mother said to me only made me more afraid to go in. My shaky hand gripped and turned it.