Michelle Hartman

“I think Texas was settled accidentally. Everyone was headed for California.

Some

people made

it. Others only got this far before they were exhausted. So

they looked

around and said, ‘This’ll

do’. They settled.”

Kim Wozencraft,

“Notes from the

Country Club”

Chapter Two - Pretty Betty

Betty swirled, catching up her skirts so they’d fan out. With mincing dance steps, she
left room six, waltzing into number eight. By the time I grabbed my stuff and followed,
she was parked in front of a mirror. Her body moved in swinging motions side to side
as it curved like a snake from her head to her feet. The motion was making me seasick.

This room contained the bench I remembered. Betty sang a little song under her breath
as I situated myself. She swirled again, then stopped to face me.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” A child-like voice came out of a face that should have been
on a grown woman. At least, she would have been by the standards in those days. She
did have a pleasant face and I told her so.

Her hair was gathered behind the head and fell in ringlets. It looked greasy, but I
assumed some powerful stuff would be needed to keep a hairdo that complicated
together. Skirts that should have come to her ankles hit her just below the knee,
because she kept holding them up to dance. Her legs were slender with stockings that
stopped mid-thigh. The heavy, ankle high shoes did not detract from the overall
attractiveness of tanned, well turned legs.

Betty lighted on a chair that sat to the left of the mirror. As she talked she continued to
fuss with her hair, skirts, and the broach on her left shoulder. This was punctuated
with the wringing of her hands. Her face portrayed the appropriate emotions as though
she were taking a screen test. Betty knew how to emote. She rarely looked straight at
me, but cut her eyes in my general direction. I think I was supposed to be flattered.

“Well, it all started with that terrible war. Papa would still be alive and taking care of
Mama and I, if it just hadn’t been for all that silly business. I know everyone here says
I talk too much about the ‘Glorious South’, but it was. The parties and the clothes.
Nothing like here.” Her face wrinkled in disgust.

“We didn’t have a large place. Papa was a gentleman farmer. We had about ten slaves.
They were all freed because of the war. We couldn’t get any help. The Yankees drove
the taxes up until Papa was forced to sell. Our neighbors didn’t like Papa selling his
land to the very people who ruined our way of life. But I don’t give a flip. We had to
have something to live on. Something to start with here, I mean. Papa read about
Texas, and nothing would have it but we had to come here. So the next thing I know,
we were on a wagon headed west.

“There were several other families and a few men riding alone. The men would look at
me because I was so pretty and because I was of a good family. Mama would slap me
if she saw me looking back at them. Sometimes, I think she did it just because they
were looking at me. Mama said I wasn’t going to become some man’s squaw. I was
bred for society and I could only marry a rich Texan. She wanted one that owned land,
so she and Papa could live there, too.”

The heavy southern accent made it hard to record exactly what she said. Subtle
nuances were misleading. Her words were long and drawn out. As is the southern
way, certain things are stated in a round-about manner. They are implied according to
where in a word the emphasis is placed. The a in squaw was held for three beats, and
the voice lowered. Translated, this means, You would be lower than low, and I would
rather see you dead.

“We stayed in the hotel down the street for the first few weeks. You know, they won’t
even let me in there now? Anyway, Papa bought some land east of town. There were
the nicest creeks that came together and he said we could raise cattle and enough food
for our family. The first year we had to live off our savings until Papa could get the
crops planted and a herd built. The next year a man and his family showed up, claiming
they owned the land. The judge in town upheld their claim.

“Mama was devastated. How she screamed and took on! If I’d acted like that she’d
have switched me good. Papa cried, she carried on so. Using the little bit of money he
had left, he moved us back into the hotel. Then he took to gambling. Of course, he
stayed to the gentlemen’s games. He did quite well, if I do say so myself. Soon, we
moved into a suite of rooms at one of the better boarding houses.

“Late one night I woke up to hear Mama screaming. There she was in the parlor, her
dressing gown hanging open and her hair untended. Men were standing around trying
not to look at her. Papa had been shot by another gambler. They brought him back to
our rooms. Can you imagine that? Instead of taking him to the doctors? Well, Mama
was beside herself. His money had been stolen along with his jewelry. Mama asked and
they said he didn’t have anything in front of him when the shooting broke out. There
certainly wasn’t anything in his pockets because Mama went through them prompt.”

Betty was indignant at this point. A lace hankie appeared from one sleeve. She dabbed it
at her nose to let me know that she was properly incensed about the whole affair.

“Papa died two days later. He was shot here.” She indicated her stomach. “He
screamed for the first day and then he moaned and cried. Mama paced the floor and
cried too. I took care of Papa as best I could but I never learned nursing, Mama always
said it was common. And she couldn’t help, due to her delicate sensibilities. When Papa
died, we called for the undertaker. Would you believe they just tossed him into a wagon
and drove off? They threw an old piece of canvas over him.

“He was buried the same afternoon. Mama stopped crying after they buried him. She
got real quiet. The rest of the day she sat staring out of the window, except for a brief
trip she made in the afternoon. That night when we went to bed, she told me I’d have
to start earning my keep. Well believe you me, I had no idea what she was talking
about! I had no training to do such a thing. How could she have had that thought? The
next morning she was gone. I went up and down the street inquiring. A man who
gambled with Papa said he’d seen her with a scout, heading east to pick up another
train.

“I knew then she was going for help and would be back for me. There was one
problem, though, the room was not paid for. In the afternoon the landlord knocked on
the door and just let hisself in. I told him right fast that was no way to treat a lady.

“He talked terribly to me. He said I was no lady and my family was thieves. He asked
me for the room money, as if I would have it. I told him Mama had gone to get help
from our family and she’d return for me. He laughed in my face, called my Mama
names I didn’t understand. Well, I understood a few of them.”

At this Betty turned away from me for a moment. When she looked back, her eyes
were pink and watery. I decided to be a lady, too, and not notice. Squaring her
shoulders she continued to talk and to fuss with her clothes.

“The landlord said ‘fore he threw me out, he was going to make back his rent. He
locked me in the room for several hours, then he came back with a gentleman. At least,
I thought it was a gentleman. Let me assure you, he was not. A blackguard in every
sense of the word. When I finally requested him to leave, the landlord threw me into
the street behind him. He tossed my clothes after me. But he kept my jewelry.

“The landlord’s friend did tell me of a room where I could work for my keep. That’s
how I ended up here. It looked different, a large rooming house stood on this land. But
the room was much the same, nothing to speak of. I did laundry to be able to stay. It
just ruined my hands.” At this the oration ceased and I had to inspect and pass
judgment on Betty’s hands. Her fingers were long, and her hands lovely, if a little
worn. The nails, though short and peeling, were clean.

“I also learned to cook and mend. Anything to keep going ‘til Mama came back. After a
while I knew she wasn’t coming back. She must have been hurt or killed trying to get
back to me. It was up to me to make her proud. I did. I kept myself like a lady, hoping
someday the rich Texan she talked about would ride into town and whisk me away
from here.”

Betty began to dance around again and to hum. When I was about to put away my
writing things she plopped back into the chair. “Do you really think I’m pretty?”
Absolutely, I assured her. Her smile was almost worth the irritation of having to
reassure her so often.

“I was delivering laundry one morning when I saw some men riding into town. One of
them just stared and stared at me. He had silvered tips on his saddle. And good clothes.
I walked a little more like a girl for him. You know what I mean, like at a cotillion. He
noticed me all right. He immediately inquired as to where I lived.

“Every night he came calling. We danced at the hall and we ate in the nice restaurant.
How proud he was to sport me on his arm!”

Her dancing became quite lively with this disclosure. “All the men in town who had
failed to come to my aid were now green with envy. Those old hens who had been so
quick to insult me kept their mouths shut, I can tell you.”

Betty stopped and stared off into space with a most self-satisfied look on her face. She
appeared to be reliving the whole relationship. She fingered her brooch.

“He gave me this. Do you like it?”

She didn’t give me time to answer.

“Three months after he came to town he asked me to marry him. We had the loveliest
wedding at the church. The girls here in the rooming house each gave me something to
wear in the wedding. All the townfolk showed up and the food was wonderful. Every
lady made a dish and brought it. They were forced to show me I was accepted. It was
the most beautiful day in my life. I just wish Mama could have seen it. She would have
been so proud. I wrote my cousin back home but she never answered. They must have
had a terrible outbreak of yellow fever again, or something like that. I guess Mama saw
me from heaven. I was a beautiful bride. My dress came from New York City!

“Well, I have to go now. After telling you about my stay here I was supposed to go. I
don’t know why they wanted me to tell you. Mama raised me not to brag about good
fortune. I hope you don’t feel bad after hearing my story. It’s just like Cinderella, isn’t
it? Good-by.”

Betty turned, danced back out the door and down the hall.

I returned to number six. My watch showed that I was seriously in danger of missing
my lunch date, but I had a few questions. With any luck, Charlotte would talk to me
again.

Hard to rouse, Charlotte did indeed talk to me. I wished later she hadn’t. She turned
reluctantly and faced me. When I asked her the name of the gentlemen Betty married,
she rolled her eyes, a look of resignation mingled with indignation.

“No man ever married Betty. She weren’t doing no laundry neither. She was a whore
jes’ like the rest of us. Her mind weren’t quite right. Oh, there was a rich man, all
right, Betty was a looker. And the more money you had, the easier on the eye was the
gal you could buy. The bastard was a rancher, passing in and out of town. Stayed
regular with Betty. When he hit town, the other men knew to stay away. He took good
care of her. Bought her gifts, a little this or that, all the time. I don’t reckon I remember
his name. There were so many men.”

“If he didn’t marry her then what happened?”

“About three years after he started working the Chisholm trail, he moved his wife and
young’uns here. Set ‘em up real big at the other end of town. The good end. We
weren’t allowed up there. Betty heard about it. ‘Course there were plenty of jealous
girls jes’ dying to tell her about the wife. Betty grieved so bad she took ill. She was on
the verge of being kicked out of the house when she started entertaining again. The
rancher come into town one weekend and sent a message he’d be showing up that
night. Betty took another man out of spite. Her man caught them in bed together. I
guess he did love her in a way. Flew into a rage. The cowboy ran for his life, toting his
clothes under his arm.

“Then that rancher pistol-whipped Betty’s face. Bent her over and shot her, right in
back of the head. Bullet took her face clean off. He meant for it to. Then he ripped the
broach off of her dress; I heard he give to his wife.”

“What happened to him?”

“Nothing. Betty was a whore. Cause of death got listed as suicide. She was a looker,
though. Could’av made some money iffen she’d worked it right. But she was so crazy
we couldn’t tell her nuthin’.”

With this Charlotte turned back to the window and continued to wait.

Read Chapter 3

Michelle Hartman - Fiction