- It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down--
- Emily Dickinson
Chapter Three - In Search Of Ghosts
By the time I got home that night, I’d rationalized what I’d seen several different ways.
Situational hysteria was my favorite. I’m not sure it exists but it sounded wonderful.
Right after rationalization came the realization that there was an entire book residing in
the old hotel. My husband was less than thrilled. With coercion, Steve agreed to return
and take pictures. Photographs and a floor plan would be of great help while writing at
home.
A graphic artist for a local hospital system, his skills have often augmented my own.
We returned on the following Friday. It being Good Friday, downtown was unusually
quiet.
Mr. Perkins not only agreed to my continued work upstairs, he gave me an interview.
This provided me with a jumping-off point to start research into the building and site
itself.
Brian Perkins, an attractive blue-eyed man with an infectious sense of humor, is a joy
to work with. The store and books are the love of his life. I could tell this would be a
productive working relationship.
The best news he had for me this day was his decision not to sell the store. He was
going to lessen the inventory and cut back his hours. Parts of the upper floor would be
rented out to artists. He expected them to move in as soon as the rooms were
straightened, and the damage from the winter removed. The bad news was he had no
floor plan or blue prints of any kind. Steve started taking measurements of the floors
and doorways. One more duty for my husband whose credulity was already over-
stretched.
We started with the building’s history. It was built in 1907 or ‘08, depending on
whether one talks to the Tarrant County Historical Society or the fire department’s
historian. The building has never been remodeled. Mr. Perkins’ first encounter with the
building was in 1942. He worked for a hearing-aid company that rented one stall on the
ground floor. Various businesses were on the first floor. The Amon Hotel, one of
several names it would have through history, was on the second floor.
The original bookstore, opened in 1925 by the Barber family, was located two blocks
to the east. The store moved to the current building sometime in the ‘30s. An employee
of ten years, Irene Evans bought it in 1945. Mr. Perkins purchased it from her in 1960.
Mr. Perkins’ accounts of the activities in and above his store are like those of a
mischievous child. He smiles and laughs at the escapades of the other inhabitants. The
most frequent occurrences are on Sundays, when he is alone in the store catching up
on bookkeeping. He usually hears pages turning. (At least ghosts are still reading these
days!) One particular occasion he felt something approaching his office with violent
intent. The feeling was so strong he related, “I jumped up with fists ready to fight my
way out of there. But there was no one there, at least no one I could see.”
That instance was the only time he felt threatened. While several customers have left
due to feelings and/or sightings and one employee quit, most reports are from Perkins
or his family. Except the running on the stairs.
Two sets of stairs lead from the upper floor directly out to the street, one set to
Throckmorton and the other on to Eighth. Off-and-on for thirty-five years, a man
wearing heavy boots has been heard running in the Throckmorton door and up seven
or eight steps. He never gets all the way to the top. This bothers Mr. Perkins more out
of curiosity than fear. It scares the supper out of everyone else, though, including an
employee who quit over it.
At the top of the same stairs is a cold spot. What’s a haunting without a cold spot?
This area drove off a set of seminary students once. They gave advice on exorcism
before leaving. At this Mr. Perkins laughs.
His son Clayton relates seeing a man walk by him one night when he knew he was
alone. Reports of footsteps and boxes moving accompanied with shadows and lights
are normal. A cat installed upstairs refused to eat and stayed hidden under shelves. The
Perkins family had to take him home.
Armed with this information, I started at the Fort Worth Library. The Tarrant County
Historical Association shows the building built in 1908. First, housing the Starlight Cafe
on the bottom floor and various hotels on the second: the Rising Phoenix, The Amon
and finally the Adams. A sign saying “Manager, Adams Hotel” still hangs over door
number one on the second floor.
What stood previously on the site is not listed. A finance company was also in the
building at one time. This by itself is enough to leave bad vibes. Thinking about all
those people desperately needing money, and more than likely not getting it, leaves me
depressed.
It doesn’t take much of a leap of faith to believe that whatever stood there before this
building, was up to its hips in vice. This area lies in the northwest corner of one of the
largest and I believe the best red-light districts in the west. Hell’s Half Acre is a name
which brings joy and envy to my heart. The bastion of those who lived for the
moment. The shame of the town fathers.
The names of “Long-Haired Jim” Courtwright, Luke Short, Butch Cassidy and The
Sundance Kid are known across the nation. Most of their fame is overblown, due to
the pulp writers of the time, and modern movie makers. The powers that reigned in
Fort Worth tried their darndest to keep all mention of such activities and people out of
the public forum. The people who moved West in those days promptly wanted their
cities to be just like home. It makes one wonder: if home was so good why did they
leave? Was New York City such a bastion of virtue to be copied? Is it now?
No mention is made in the old newspapers on file in the library of violence or low life.
The few items that did make it, were cleaned up in the birth of Execu-Speak. Keeping a
house became “disturbing the peace.” “Hooking” became “vagrancy.” Consequently,
research of people and places is extremely difficult if not impossible. While the big
names are a part of history, the minor players, gamblers to girls, are lost to us forever.
Until now, that is. Now they want their stories known and are willing to share them
with me. With the kind permission of Mr. Perkins to come and go as I need, a new
kind of light will be shed on the life and times of a young town.
After our interview, Mr. Perkins opened the rest of the second floor to me. Little did I
know, I'd only been seeing about a third of the floor. The hall formed a square with
rooms on the outside and the rooms on the inside circling an airshaft. Seventeen rooms
with a community shower, toilet and kitchen/dining facilities on a hall at the back.
There was a wealth of feelings and sensations coming at me from all sides. One room,
in particular made my skin crawl and my stomach knot.
During our conversation, I sensed Mr. Perkins badly desired an explanation of the
running on the stairs. I started out with the best intentions of faking a lovely story with
a great panoramic finish. He ought to get something for all his help. My good intentions
were subverted, however, when he opened the door to number seventeen.
As clear as day, I saw the feet and skirts of a woman dangling from the ceiling. Her
hands were visible, barely clearing the top of the door. Young and white, she turned
slowly, as if from the draft coming down the hall. My husband, who was taking
pictures quickly, and moving on, obviously not seeing her. Neither did Mr. Perkins,
who continued his narration of rooms and history without so much as a pause.
After the tour, Steve and Mr. Perkins returned to the lower floor leaving me to work.
Feeling a little guilty I hurried back to Charlotte and begged to know about the girl in
number seventeen. Herein lies Heddy’s story.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Heddy didn’t want to talk in seventeen. That was fine by me. I was not fond of talking
to her while watching her feet dangle. This ghost thing was really beginning to confuse
me. I couldn’t understand why I saw her in two places at once. The closest
explanation I can produce is both visions were equally powerful emanations. The fact
that they were of the same person is apparently irrelevant. Ghosts, unlike people, can
be in two places at the same time. Unfortunately those places were now occurring in
my life.
Heddy entered number five and I followed. She seated herself prim and proper on a pile
of boxes. Heddy looked more like she was at a tea than in the middle of a bawdy
house. This was going to be good!
Auburn hair pulled back in a french knot did not match the style of her clothing. Green
eyes shone out of pale, clear skin. A dark brown sack dress with drop waist had a
Mary Jane collar as its only decoration. She wore a choker of grosgrain ribbon, and a
thin gold band on her left hand was her only jewelry.
Folding her hands into her lap she glanced out the window and searched for a place to
start.
“My story starts in Austin. Father was from up north and came down here after the
war. Mother and I never knew what he did for work. Father treated us as though we
were too stupid to understand. I know he was not an elected official yet many of the
men from the Capitol came for dinner. I often heard conversations about him buying
elections.
“I had an older brother.” At this Heddy turned to me, asking if I would be using real
names.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” I promised her. For the purposes of this work, Heddy’s
brother will be called Robert. After hearing the complete story I returned to this point.
“Why in God’s name would you want to protect these people?” I asked. She assured
me, she in no way cared about the reputations or remains of her family. But she did
feel sorry for the innocent descendants who might be embarrassed by these
revelations. I see her point.
“As I said,” she continued “I had a brother named Robert. He was three years older
than I, and Father was grooming him to take over the family business, whatever it was.
Robert, however, had ideas of his own. Most of these involved women. Any kind, size
or type.” Heddy cut her eyes to me and looked embarrassed. “I hope I don’t offend
you.”
Boy, was this refreshing after the kind of language you hear on radio and TV today. I
vouched on my own father’s grave that it would be hard for her to say anything that
would shock me.
“Well, Robert had been in trouble off and on with the ladies for about a year. I
overheard talk once about a cash settlement concerning a child. Father had quite a
temper and he flew into a rage and confined Robert to the house. He threatened to
disown him and adopt a child from the work house. Father said he believed he could
get a better orphan than the whelp he was raising.
“Robert didn’t like this one bit, but he knew on which side his bread was buttered. He
also knew he couldn’t hold down a job if his life depended on it. So he took to
spending his days lounging around the parlor, drinking Father’s liquor. Father
overlooked this. He felt Robert needed to learn how to hold his booze. He would rather
have him home drunk, than out in the red light districts.
“Then Robert started to make remarks to me. He began to put his hands on me.
Rubbing up against me in the hall and standing in the doorway when I would try to
come and go from a room.” Heddy was twisting her handkerchief and looking at me in
desperate manner. “Do you understand me?”
I understood her all too well. I nodded my head and she continued.
“I went to Mother but she was scared silly of Father. Finally Abraham, our butler and
Father’s valet, spoke to him about Robert’s antics. Father flew into a rage at me. He
said I was leading Robert on, that I was jealous of him. He also said I was just like all
women, trying to use certain charms to work my way up in this world.”
Heddy’s eyes filled with tears. She turned her flushed face away from me.
“Mother tried to take up for me but it only made him more angry. He decided that I had
to go away. He wouldn’t have me ruining Robert’s life. This was the best thing he
could have done for me, or would have been if he hadn’t decided to send me to Cousin
Sophie.
“Cousin Sophie was an ex-schoolmarm from Alabama. She had traveled to Texas about
five years earlier and settled in Fort Worth. Mother never could understand why Sophie
stayed up here when her only living relative lived just down in Austin. I understood
when I arrived in Fort Worth. The only thing Sophie was teaching was the ways of
sin. She’d been run out of Alabama. With what she’d been able to cash in and carry,
she established a new house in Fort Worth. A small house, it held four other ‘working
girls’.
She winked at me on the word “working”. Heddy was beginning to loosen up.
“Cousin Sophie was very glad to get me. She wasn’t stupid enough to think I would
work in the house, but the room and board money Father sent each month improved
the house and paid for a maid. Sophie could dress herself better. These changes
allowed her to charge more. She had me to supervise the improvements and keep the
books. Since I could read and write, she was no longer cheated by the businessmen.
“When the customers came at night, I’d stay out of sight with a book or my sewing.
There were a few sights in town but a lady did not dare show her face alone. After all,
it was only 1900.
“One night a couple of men arrived much earlier than usual. My book and sewing bag
were in the parlor, where I stayed during the day. Waiting ‘til it got quiet, I slipped into
the parlor. Red velvet curtains hung on the inside of the door. They concealed a man
standing just to the left. Our maid had given him the one drink that came with the room
fee and he was waiting for a girl to come down.
“When I leaned over to retrieve my things he stepped out and...” (Heddy smiled at me.
Broadly!) “He whacked me where I meet the chair. Then he said, ‘you’ll do jes fine, lil’
darlin.’
“I’d never been so insulted in my life. That he couldn’t tell I was a lady was one thing.
But to touch me was entirely another. I turned and slapped him so hard he stepped
back three full steps.
“’Let me tell you,’ I said, ‘I’m not a lil darlin’. And if you call me that again, I’ll shoot
you with my Daddy’s pistol.’ Of course, I didn’t have one, but he didn’t know that. I
let him know I was not one of the girls, and if he couldn’t tell the difference, then he
didn’t need a woman as badly as he needed spectacles.
“’No ma’am, you’re not.’ Then he said, ‘Would you marry me?’ Such a grin he had,
too! So handsome and strong.” Heddy looked dreamy-eyed as she related these
memories. The sweetest of smiles played about her mouth and her shoulders relaxed
from their rigid posture.
“His name was Jefferson Davis Stafford. He was from Georgia and his people were
still fighting the Civil War. He was tired of being hungry and hearing about the
“Glorious South” while people died from refusing to deal with the Yankees. The tales
about Texas were enough to drive any boy crazy with adventurous desire. So Davis, as
he called himself, packed up and came this way. He tried his hand at cattle herding,
farming and scouting. He didn’t like any of it ‘til he got on at one of the oil fields in
Corsicana. It was like he was born to it. Soon, his name became known to all the best
foremen. But the Corsicana fields were shallow and would run out quick. Davis was
back in Fort Worth between wells and looking for the one thing that Corsicana didn’t
have a lot of and that was women.
“Of course, I didn’t believe him when he proposed. He set his drink down and said
while he had come to be with one of the girls, he would gladly take his money’s worth
in conversation with a lady. He could get a woman any night but he had not seen a lady
since Georgia. He was insulting every lady in Fort Worth and believe me there were
many, but I didn’t point this out. He could’ve charmed a snake into not biting.
“I decided to see, just how serious he was. So I sat on the divan and talked with him.
That’s how I found out all the things I told you. He sure could talk. It made you feel
just like you were out on that rig. All of his friends sounded so interesting when he
talked about them. Sure enough when his time was up, he stood up and bowed just like
a gentleman. Then he asked if he could come again, under whatever terms I set.
“I told him I didn’t think it would work. The ladies might take offence at my stealing a
customer. They’d been so good to me, I hated to hurt their feelings or make them
angry at me. He went away insisting he would see me again.
“Sophie and the girls had a good laugh at my expense. They said he was just trying to
soften me up, thinking I would ‘entertain him’ if he was really nice. They teased me
about him coming back. ‘He gambled his money and lost, honey. He’ll be back tonight
but it will be for one of us,’ they said. Sophie gave me the money and told me to hold
on to it. It would probably be the last. But the joke was on them. That afternoon, a boy
delivered chocolates. I shared with everyone and then we placed bets on when he
would show up.
“After six, he strolled in, dressed in a Sunday suit and smelling to high heaven of bay
rum. I saw him out of an upstairs window. Sophie told him I was not there to entertain
and considering he lost his money the night before, he could have any other woman at
half the price. Sophie says he drew himself up to a full six two and informed her he did
not consider his money lost. He then planted himself on the sofa and declared his
intentions to stay until I showed my face. Sophie told him it would be a long wait since
I had returned to Austin that day. At this, Sophie said, he sprang to his feet and
charged up the stairs. He went from room to room. I could hear the doors slamming all
the way through the house.
“When he reached my room, on the far side of the attic, I was backed up against the
bed. He threw the door open with a bang and my insides dropped down to the parlor,
clear through the floor. He had to duck to get in the door. He stopped just inside.
‘Heddy’, he said, ‘I don’t got time to fool around. I have to git back to the fields soon.
It’d make the trip easier if I knew you’d not be walking out with any other man while I
was gone. Now I know you’re not a bad girl but you are pretty and there’s plenty of
men in this town willing to marry you. Even if you did come out of a house. So you
see I can’t be leaving ‘til I git a promise from you.’
“I promised right then and there. We spent the next week just talking and dreaming
about the future. With Davis, I could walk out and see the town. Fort Worth was so
marvelous. Mother and I had seldom gone out, except for card parties or teas. Back
then a lady didn’t go out into public unless she was escorted and Father was always
too busy to be bothered. So I didn’t know much about Fort Worth compared to Austin
but I bet it would win.
“Davis left that weekend to go back to Corsicana. I stayed at Sophie’s. We were even
more careful about anyone seeing me. Sophie said since I had a shot at a life I shouldn’
t take chances on rumors later. I couldn’t read or sew, I was so excited. I just sat at
the window and looked for Davis.
“He came back six weeks later. Barely taking time to clean up, he arrived here with
this.”
She held up her hand and gave me a good look at her wedding band.
“He gave Sophie some money. She took me to Monnigs and we bought a suit for me to
get married in. We went to the First Christian Church there on Throckmorton. The
preacher looked a little suspiciously at Sophie and the girls. They dressed up as best
they could but I guess it still showed through. Davis and I got married in June of 1900.
He said it would be our decade.
“Since I was to be a proper married lady, Davis said I couldn’t live at Sophie’s
anymore. He rented a room here. It was a large rooming house then. I had a lovely
room across the way, very expensive since it was one of the larger rooms. It faced
west however, and was one of the hottest rooms in the house. I wouldn’t have
complained for the world though. The room was real pretty. Davis wired ahead and
had everything set up. We had dinner at a small restaurant around the corner on
Houston. Then we went to our room.
“I was luckier than most girls at that time. Sophie and the girls had told me what to
expect on my wedding night. And Davis was wonderful.” Heddy hugged herself before
she remembered I was listening. Her face flushed pink again. Straightening her skirt,
she continued.
“Davis never stayed more than a week or two at a time. Then he would be gone two to
three months. Someone was always sending a telegram that this well or that one was
going off. He would shoot out of here in a hurry and come back exhausted, dirty and
wanting me badly.
“When he was here, we painted the town. He always bought me new clothes and took
me to musical shows.
“Soon after we got married I became, well, you know.” She cut her eyes at me.
“I found myself in a delicate condition. Davis was so happy except he worried about
going away and leaving me. Sophie said Father was thinking about sending for me.
Mother mentioned it in her letters. My brother, Robert, ran away from home after
sneaking out one night and getting another local girl into trouble. Her family was one
that wouldn’t be bought off. The father and brothers were looking to kill him, as they
did not relish having him as a member of the family. Father was livid, making noises
about having sent off the best member of the family. His intentions, Mother said, were
to marry me off to a son he could be proud of. I knew in my heart Davis wouldn’t be
that son. Davis wouldn’t become any
man’s lackey.
“So here I was with child and alone. Father could show up anytime. We couldn’t
afford for Davis to stay in town, however. He took some small jobs locally but I knew
he was not happy. In the meantime, I became close friends with the lady who ran the
rooming house. Mrs. Gribbs was a widow woman out of Tennessee. She didn’t look
very friendly and the other renters didn’t like her much. For some reason she went out
of her way to be accommodating to me. Always talking about how hard it was to have
and raise children without your man around. Though he felt better about leaving me
alone, Davis didn’t like her, either. She watched over me like a hawk.
“We’d have tea in the afternoon. She had the room directly across from me. With large
windows on two sides of the building, it got the most air. It was pleasant to sip tea and
rock gently in the breeze. Mrs. Gribbs would tell me about her life. It was a very
unhappy one. Her husband had gotten gold fever and run off to California. She was left
to take care of the farm her father had given them, and raise two little boys. The boys
died of yellow fever and the farm was taken by carpetbaggers for back taxes. Mrs.
Gribbs had left to escape the memories. Depressing as it was, I still went each day to
escape the heat. By winter, I was used to her.
“Davis used to say our child would be born depressed because of Mrs. Gribbs’ stories.
I just laughed at him.
“Christmas that year was wonderful. Everybody we knew gave us baby things. Davis
made a cradle with his own hands. He had built it in the shed behind Sophie’s house
and snuck it in Christmas Eve night. There were moon and star shapes cut out at the
top. He said it was because our child deserved the best. The girls pooled their money
and bought a silver rattle at Meacham’s. It came with a card saying my baby might not
be born with a silver spoon in its mouth but it would darn well shake a silver rattle.
“The day after Christmas, Davis got a telegram wanting him to come to Beaumont. He
didn’t want to go. I hadn’t been feeling well and it was our first New Years Day. I
assured him that between Sophie, the girls, and Mrs. Gribbs I was sure to be fine.
“We heard about Spindletop from the newspapers first. I guess Davis couldn’t leave
long enough to wire. When he finally did send word, he said we were rich. I didn’t
understand because another man owned the land and rights. I figured Davis would
explain when he came.
“In the meantime, I had my hands full with the baby. He came the second week in
February. He was early and very small. The doctor didn’t expect him to live. He didn’t
say it, we could just see it in his face. Sophie shooed him out of the room. Then she
went and got the best midwife in Fort Worth. With all of those women fussin’ over
him, little Jeffie didn’t have any choice in the matter. He not only lived, but he ate like a
pig, and grew like a weed. He meant more to me than life itself.
“The extra doctor bills drained the money Davis left for me and I didn’t want to bother
him in the fields. As soon as I could I went out to find work. Mrs. Gribbs offered to
keep the baby for no charge. I wouldn’t hear of it so we agreed that I would pay her
when I could or when Davis came home. Davis telegraphed that we would be able to
buy a house when he returned so I think she wanted all the time with the baby that she
could get before we left. It’s not like she couldn’t have visited. I think she liked to
pretend he was hers. For a few hours each day she had her little boys back. Sophie
warned me about her but I just couldn’t imagine her as a threat.
“I had taken a small secretarial job at the Swift packing house. One of the salesmen
who stayed here told me about it. That’s what started the trouble. A businessman from
Austin recognized me and mentioned it to a friend of father’s. You can imagine how he
blew up. He probably left me at Sophie’s until after Christmas so he wouldn’t have to
buy me anything. Then he had some business to take care of in Houston. This delayed
him further. To hear that his daughter was working for pay in Fort Worth when he
was sending money every month infuriated him. Since only the lower class would let
their women have a job, this would seriously impede his marrying me off to the highest
bidder if the word got out.
“Father wired Sophie, that he was coming. He further instructed that any actions
which would embarrass him or Mother should be stopped at once. Sophie panicked.
She knew about Father’s temper and what he would do if he discovered his money had
been supporting a bawdy house. So she wired back I had run off with a man working
the cattle herds. She hoped this would keep him out of Fort Worth. It only made him
madder. He hired a detective to come to Fort Worth and find me. The detective was
not so good, preferring to spend his time in bars than on the job. He went back with a
report that failed to mention my marriage and my baby. Father was told about Sophie’s
house; he was also informed that I was being kept by an oilman. He was told the
oilman was currently out of town and I was earning my living while Sophie took my
money.
“Meantime Sophie told me about the telegram from Father. I wired Davis. I know I
should have told my parents about Davis from the start but I was afraid. I knew Father
would cause trouble. I also thought his money going to Sophie was just punishment for
the way Father and others like him treated women. The money would stop if he knew I
was married and the trouble would start. My father knew more people in Texas than
Davis did. There would be no contest. The fruits of my deception were about to catch
up with me.
“Soon as Father got the detective’s report, he must have set out for Fort Worth. When
he arrived he checked in at a fancy hotel in the north downtown area. I guess he
wanted to see for himself how bad it was. He watched me leave for work and he drove
by Sophie’s house. He talked with men around town. Although he did not hear anything
bad about me or Davis, he got a good idea about Sophie. Calling in a lot of favors,
Father had Sophie picked up by the police. The rest of the girls left town right away.
Father saw Sophie at the jail, gave her money, paid her bail, then saw to it she was
placed on a train out of town that afternoon. Then Father got a telegram from his
detective. Davis was coming home.
“My sweetheart was returning to meet his son and tell me about our newfound riches.
I also received a telegram about his return. I waited dressed and excited for him to
come. I went to the station that afternoon and checked the schedule. Davis’ train
would be in about nine. So I rocked Jeffie in our room and waited. Around eight, Mrs.
Gribbs came and offered to take Jeffie for awhile so I could freshen up and have a
moment alone with Davis first.
“By nine, I was nervous as a cat. I knew the train arrived because we could hear it
from here. I tried to wait patiently for him to walk home from the station. I wanted to
run out to the street. But it wouldn’t have been seemly to give him the kind of greeting
I wanted to out on the street. I heard the door downstairs slam and boots on the stairs.
I started towards the door of my room. That’s when I heard the shots.
“I jerked the door open, ran around the corner, and down the short hall. I saw my
Father standing at the top of the stairs, a gun in his hands. Another couple of steps and
I reached the railing. Looking down, I could see a man’s legs. The rest of him was
sticking out the door and onto the sidewalk. From the boots, I knew it was Davis.
“I began to scream and started around to the top of the stairs. I had to get to Davis, but
Father barred the way. Trying to get past him, I saw some men lift Davis up and carry
him off. Father started slapping me and shouting that I was a whore. I backed away
but he just kept coming. I turned and ran to my room. I thought I could lock him out.
He caught the door, pushing me back into the room. Shouting at me, he grabbed my
throat and squeezed.
“He never gave me a chance to tell him I was married or that he had a grandson, one
who could have followed in his footsteps, a grandson that could have saved the family
name. He never asked why. He just squeezed the life out of me.
“Father became scared when I dropped to the floor. It was one thing to have killed my
lover. He told the local KKK chapter his daughter had been taken advantage of. They
were more than happy to help him relieve the town of one more wayward roughneck.
But killing his own daughter would be a different story altogether.
“Being strangled was a strange experience. It didn’t hurt after the first moment or two.
I simply got up. When I looked back, a body, my body, was lying on the floor. Father
was shaking my head like it was a bag of rags. He turned loose and my head dropped
onto the floor with a bang. I thought I felt it, but I’m not sure. I could see what was
going on but I couldn’t quite understand it.
“The others who show up here after their deaths didn’t seem to grasp their situations
as quickly as I did. They walked around in some type of shocked trance for the
longest. I didn’t have that problem. Maybe it was Jeffie? My concern over his welfare
may have snapped me back. I guess I’ll never know.
“Father fell back into the same chair I’d left moments before. My love was at that
moment being carried out of town in the back of a truck. They dumped his body in a
shallow grave somewhere upriver. Father’s hands finally stopped shaking and he went
down to his carriage. He got some rope, came back and hung my body from the pipes
running across the ceiling. He sat back down to write the suicide note when he looked
up into the barrel of Mrs. Gribbs’s gun. With her door carefully cracked open, the old
woman had seen everything.
“She was the one who had tipped the detective off, she informed my father. And she
would keep on telling unless she was compensated for her silence. His fancy job
wouldn’t last long when people found out he killed his daughter and her husband. You
should have seen my father’s face when she said husband. Still she didn’t mention his
grandson. That would surely have thrown him into a fit. With the gun leveled at his
head, he couldn’t dispose of Mrs. Gribbs and he couldn’t let her go to the sheriff.
Since she ran a clean hotel, he couldn’t get rid of her as he did Sophie. He was forced
to deal with her. They settled on a price and the delivery while I dangled above them.
You’d have thought they were discussing a head of cattle.
“Father paid her and left town, right after burning my marriage license, and the rest of
the papers that Mrs. Gribbs gave him. I have no idea what he told Mother. I heard
later, that Father adopted a child. His new son entered politics and made the family
quite proud. Mrs. Gribbs took Jeffie and bought a place outside of town. She changed
her name and my son’s. She raised him as her own. I’d see him occasionally when he
would come into town. My grandson is an officer for the Fort Worth Police
department. He is so handsome. Looks just like Davis.”
Tears flowed gently down Heddy’s cheeks during the last of the story. Her voice,
cracking more frequently, finally gave way to the lump I imagine was raising in her
throat. I was having a little trouble seeing her. I realized I was crying too. Together we
sat quietly in that room, as she remembered her family, and I thought of mine.
Heddy suddenly looked up. Her face broke into a large smile. Behind me in the doorway
stood a man, a baby in his arms. Man and baby, both dark with black eyes, did not
enter the room. Jefferson Davis Stafford was truly a looker. In a Sunday suit, he and
baby looked ready to walk out with Miss Heddy. And that they did. Heddy rose and
took Davis’ arm as the baby cooed and gurgled. They didn’t say good-bye, but that’s
all right. They were a little preoccupied.
Michelle Hartman - Fiction
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