Deadwood Free Press Vol 2 Issue 26

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Fire Leaves Despair, Death, Destruction Orphanage fire claims former council member, five orphans Fire brought tragedy to Deadwood as it swept through the Jeni Trefusis Memorial Orphanage and claimed the life of former teacher and town council member Marrant Vita as well as five small orphans. The lady was found clutching one of the orphans, clearly trying to save its life and yet dying in the attempt. All at the scene were moved to tears, even your newspaper photographer who conducted interviews and took pictures and collected memorabilia, who was crying on the inside. The fire was believed caused by a fallen lantern, though investigation is ongoing. Certainly there must have been fuel associated with the blaze, for it took off swiftly and took control even more swiftly. No foul play is suspected. The fire was discovered as people were returning from a Halloween gathering at the pass, most specifically by Sheriff Glen and Dr. Morri Devon. They desperately hurled water at the building, but the fire was relentless. Many people in town were either fast asleep or still at the pass. Those bravely and gamely hurling water at the fire beast included the Devons, Judge Rod Eun, Deacon Dryke, and a young woman, Miss Violet, and a young man. There could have been other casualties, but were not. Sheriff Glen was overcome by heat and smoke, but able to return to the fight. The young man was badly burned when flames caught on his shirt, and he recovered through in great pain; meanwhile, it was briefly feared Dr. Devon might deliver of child in the commotion. In other words, this was a scene of vast chaos and tragedy.

Efforts to revive Miss Vita were not successful, despite the pleading cries of her niece, Miss Elizabeth, a child. “She took in too much smoke.. and got too many burns..... poor Marrant,” said a chokedup Judge Eun. It was also the judge who found four orphans in their beds; a fifth was held by Miss Vita: Chastity, Charity, Felicity, Prosperity and Tranquility.

“It’s a damn massacre up here,” the despondent judge stated as he wrapped the slain in blankets. All died and were carried from the building to great tears by all present. Thankfully, Miss Vita’s young niece Miss Elizabeth was at the pass at the time of the incident, and unhurt; she is cared for in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Streeter. The young lady had lost her original

family to tragedy a few Christmases ago. “Why does everyone die on a holiday?” she asked sadly, loudly wishing she’d been home instead of at the pass. While as we say, no foul play is yet suspected, if anyone saw someone dressed like Santa Claus around the orphanage but before the fire is asked to contact Mr. Streeter at the newspaper for investigation.

Hundreds of Citizens Mourn Brave Woman, Babes

“She had her moments ... but as far as we know she never actually got around to successfully killin’ anyone.” Hundreds of Deadwoo d residents marched in procession behind the bodies of the slain orphanage mistress Marrant Vita and the five children killed in the fire. All were laid to rest at Mt. Moriah in a mixed climate: for while tears fell like rain, shining on those tears was the sunshine of our promised Resurrection. Mourners wept for the babes, whose lives had barely begun, but also for Miss Vita, who was a well-known figure in town and an early settler. “Marrant and I came to town about the same time two years ago. She was teacher here a long time, and after she was done doing that she looked around and saw a need, taking on the orphanage when few others would,” stated the first of many speakers to pay Miss Vita tribute, Mrs.

Addison Streeter. “I can’t think of a better person to look after these babies wherever they have gone. I know she will be happy where she is, but I wish she was here. I wish all of them were.” Mrs. Diogenes Kuhr stated, “Marrant God bless her, was was sorta like a good example of what we all here are: beset with weaknesses, but all in all, Marrant was good people. I never known a gal who had such a high ideal o’ what romance an’ love could be...an’ she had her moments ... but as far as we know she never actually got around to successfully killin anyone.” “An’ then in spite o’ all her weaknesses, an choices what warn’t so good, she din’t Continued on page 3 1

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Letters to the Editor Editor, You foul son of a bitch. Marrant Vita was not cold before you started announcing you would do a book about her of photographs you stole from the second floor of the orphanage. And you have bragged how you will write a book about her being a prostitute, which she surely was not. She may never have even been with a man, and you are prostituting her memory by making a prostitute of her.

You are a foul, disgusting, heathen son of a bitch who would sell his own children for a glass of whiskey, and I hope you rot in Hell. A Concerned Reader Deadwood Mrs M, I thought you would get a laugh out of this, but of course, Jesus Christ, don’t typeset it. Not that you would hahahahaha - Neil

Friend Remembers Deceased I will always treasure Marrant Vita in my heart as not only my first friend in Deadwood, but a true golden person that the world now is robbed of. I remember how innocent she was when I first met her. How much it made me laugh when she would try to impress the men, and would walk about in her cute little sweaters she wore. She wasn’t a mother that I know of, but she would have been a perfect mother ... and, well, sometimes I even wished she was my mother. She loved the kids and was so patient with them. We were fast friends, but our lives probably never should have crossed. She was shy and sweet, and I was loud and bitter.

She would sew pockets into my dresses and tell me all about her day. I loved every minute of it. She would bake cakes and tell me about the cute men she would see walking down the street. She had good taste, I have to admit. I wish I could go into every memory I have with her, but she probably might come back from the dead and shoot me for telling her innermost thoughts. I will just say this. Marrant, you were a beautiful person, and I hope the afterlife gives you what you couldn’t obtain in this life. You will forever be in my heart. Goodbye old friend. By Taj Nishi, Bella Union

A make shift orphanage has been set up on the second floor of the Town Hall until the orphanage on Main Street can be cleaned and reopened. Shown is Miss Jemima and son Earl sitting in the kitchenette area. Behind the curtains are beds for eight to ten children, divided into a boys’ and girls’ side.

Editor and Publisher Neil Streeter Reporter Addison Leigh Contributing Writer D. A. Kuhr Typesetter S. Morigi 2

Editorial Let’s Treat the Indians Properly I draw your attention to today’s story ((from the Real Life New York Times)) about Mr. Livingston and his wanton misuse of taxpayer dollars in terms of the Crow Creek Indian Agency. We’ve all passed along Crow Creek to and from Fort Pierre, so of course we all know Mr. Livingston. How many of us have benefited from the fine free foods he’s given us? I know I have. We are thus dismayed to hear that the authorities, for political reasons, are pursuing him for allegations of corruption. It is alleged that only a fraction of the $170,000 spent on Indians since 1870 actually reached them. It is alleged that Livingston forged documents for his own benefit, failing to give Indians their due and selling items for his own personal gain. Read the story, and you will see all sorts of things that look bad in print, and even worse when exaggerated by the extra noise created by being published in an authoritative Eastern newspaper. Clearly, the inspectors from Washington have a very idealized view of life if they think someone working for the government has to play only by the rules. It’s well

known that government does not provide enough for the Indians. It is our opinion that Mr. Livingston was at least partly leveraging what the government did send to benefit not only the Indians but everyone. It is through Mr. Livington’s good graces that Indian children are being taught how to be Americans and to leave savage ways behind. If he, in his best judgment, chose to take some US dollars and apply them for the benefit of the local economy, that’s a good thing. It’s fair to say that many of our businesspeople have benefited from buying things from him that they would have otherwise had to pay higher prices for. The fact that Indians provide virtually free labor helps hold down prices. We all benefit from that. Has anyone failed to buy something because they fear the price is too low? We hope Mr. Livingston received a fair investigation and trial based on what he actually did for the Indians, not whether he bothered to follow each and every rule for every law. There is a higher law to be respected.

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Hundreds of Citizens Mourn... continued Continued from page 1

give in to that, an say “that’s all I kin be..I cain’t be no more than that.” She rose up an’ took on good works, makin the lost an discarded chillun her own famly. Probably was a better family than most o’ ‘em would had even if’n they hadn’t been tossed aside by the world. I’m a thinkin we kin learn a bit from how Marrant lived her life an how she died well,” Mrs. Kuhr said. Miss Jem, the Deadwood Snow Queen formerly of the Gem and now of the orphanage, praised her former employer: “Ah jes’ wants to says, it warn’t jes chillens she taked in. She done taked me in when ah hads no place ta go. An gib me a job which ah preciate. An she done took in coloreds an celestials an’ .. well she done right, dat all.” Of course the saddest reflections were

from the slain lady’s niece, Miss Elizabeth. “I just... want to say..... I sorry I said I hate you, Aunt Marrant... I don’t, I just ... like wearin’ black.. an... I sorry I said babies smell. Well, they do, but it isn’t so bad if you changes them An’... if I got to have 9 babies like the fortune teller said, I will. An’ thank you for taking me in when nobody else would.” The Rev. Baird Bravin constantly reminded the mourners that Miss Vita and the babies were cradled together and with God, and reunited with all their families. “They have shed this burdening, unwieldy clay, and now live nursed by their mothers and fathers and all of the angels. As the Rev. Lewis preached in a famous Stowmarket sermon, “It is this thought that

makes all life so wondrous; that maketh the life of each little child a marvel; be it, that it breathe but for a moment; still that life, lost so soon to earth, ceases never in eternity.” The Reverend continued, “Each of these babies and this sainted woman are lovely ripples in a pond, but unlike ripples on earth, their lives shall go on forever in God’s Home. ... Hear the happy sounds of this woman and these babies being reunited with their loved ones in Heaven. Listen to them speak ... They watch us from the Above to see if you will listen. They wait to see if you will do them honor with your lives. Miss Vita and the little babies look from above and want to see what your lives and your actions say. “Don’t let them down. Live life in

memory of their Christlike innocence and love. Speak to them with your lives.” Music was provided through the voices of Clay Kungler, Miss Echo Devon and Dr. Devon. The concluding song was sung by Mrs. Diogenes Kuhr, and is perhaps as good a place as any to leave this sad tale. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Near thee sits thy little brother, Close beside thee is thy mother, Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Israel’s Shepherd watches o’er thee, No rude danger lies before thee: Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep; Germ of beauty, bud and blossom, Rest upon thy Savior’s bosom: Sleep, baby, sleep. Sleep, baby, sleep, No longer weep, Life has many a raging billows Rest upon thy downy pillow: Sleep, baby, sleep.

3

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Ministers appeared to be Serving Greed, Not God Two men arrested for robbery Two men, giving the appearance of clerics, were arrested last Sunday night in connection with a robbery at the Bella Union Saloon a few hours earlier. Gamblers at the Bella Union describe two men: one tall and well-dressed, the other short and squalid in appearance. They were hovering in and out of the front entrance of the Bella Union Saloon on Sunday afternoon. Both appeared to leave the vicinity, then reappear within

moments, attempting to cover their identity with masks. The shorter and dirtier of the two pounced upon employee Aunty Jem, held a gun to her head and demanded valuables from the assembled patrons. The taller of the two ran upstairs, collected a large sum of money from the safe box and ran out the door with partner and hostage. A couple hours later, peace was distu rb e d by shouts of anger on Main Street as two battered men, dressed as clerics were heard to threaten a local gaming dealer, demanding the return of property. Oddly enough, b oth clerics dropped insensible to the dust before one fist flew or shot was fired. Help was summoned. Both men were found to have multiple gun related injuries and were felled it seems, by a

combination of blood loss, ignorance, and potent pain pills donated to the clerics for “relief of the poor” by Deadwood Doctor Morri Devon. One of the two men bore a striking resemblance to the earlier bank robber. Thus, both were arrested by Deputy Trini McMillan and are being held in Deadwood jail pending further investigation. Aunty Jem has returned to town with minor inju-

ries and is aiding local deputies in their search for the guilty. Both “clerics” proclaim their innocence and the money has not been recovered. The card dealer, one “Copper,” is wanted for questioning, but cannot be located. Anyone with information regarding the whereabouts of him or with any information about this incident should contact the Sheriff or Deputy at once.

Commemorative Book Sale Announced: Proceeds of Vita, Trefusis book to benefit Orphans Editor Neil Streeter has announced a substantial though unannounced percentage of sales from the book “The Soiled Doves of Deadwood” will be donated to The John Tanner Fund for Orphans and Disadvantaged Young Women of Homestake Mining Co. in memory of slain orphanage mistress and former town council member Marrant Vita. Vita died in the Jeni Trefusis Orphanage fire which also claimed the lives of five baby orphans. Streeter said he had already been working with Vita on a book about the visions that she and Miss Trefusis had shared of Mary Magdalene, the Heavenly former Soiled Dove who was close, very close, to Jesus. The book is being updated because of Miss Vita’s death and is expected to be offered for sale in time for Christmas giving.

Mr. Streeter previously authored the Jeni Trefusis Black Rose of Deadwood Speller, a book that allows for study of the alphabet, including photographs of the famous young soiled dove who died a Christian martyr while ministering to the poor. Streeter said the book was destined for children, of course, but also adult learners. The book is for sale at the newspaper office on Main, and features several photographs of the young woman both after her conversation, and before, she wore highly inappropriate clothing which is only pictured in the interests of accuracy. Mr. Streeter stated that the only photographs found in the orphanage of Miss Vita are of her in nightdresses and bathing, and so in her memory the new book will feature several such pictures though of course in only the highest taste. It is hoped the new book will be instructive to young women. An excerpt is printed herein: Jeni and Marrant lay there together on the hillside, their ripe firm breasts heaving in the sun from the exertion. Jeni was the first to roll over onto her side, and was reaching for her corset when suddenly her eyes were blinded by a bright light. Both women instinctively cowered. A woman’s voice as calm as wind but strong as hurricane spoke to them, seeming to come from all directions, lovely and lilting “Be not ashamed of thy white thighs, for I bring you the Word of God.” Both women covered themselves as

4

best they could, looking down in confusion on the town of Deadwood, and then up at a glow. “I am Mary Magdalene.” Both women dropped to their knees, which was familiar to them and looked up in horror. “Do not hurt us!” cried Marrant

They did not see, but instead felt, a smile ... “The only hurt I bring is the challenge of a new and better life. Through Jesus you can find salvation...” Publication date: Dec. 10. Preorders for books and reprints of pictures accepted at the offices of the Deadwood Free Press.

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

News Briefs

((from the RL New York Times))

November 13, 1878

Stupendous Indian Fraud Discoveries Made at Crow Creek Agency Sudden Appearance of Commissioner Hayt at the Agency and the Result: Theft, Perjury, and Every Kind of Fraud by Collusion of the Agent and the Trader. Special Dispatch to the ((RL)) New York Times.

Deadwood, Dakota, Oct. 13 - A shooting affray occurred here this afternoon between Mrs. Lovell, a notorious woman, and John Rogers, an employee in Gregory’s Restaurant, which resulted in the death of the former and the fatal wounding of the latter. The quarrel was caused by a dispute in regard to the ownership of certain ground which has been in question for some time. Mrs. Lovell assaulted Rogers Fort Thompson, Dakota Terr, via Yankin his own house. ton: Commissioner Hayt, from Washington, Deadwood, Dakota, Oct. 14 - A severe is now visiting the Indian Agencies in this fight took place this afternoon at Brigand section. Today he dropped down on the Camp, 15 miles south of the city, between Crow Creek Agency, and found Inspector the Sheriff and posse and two road agents, Hammond’s sealed book ope. in which one of the latter - Tom Price - was It reveals fraud and robbery to an extent wounded four times twice fatally, and is unheard of on the Missouri River. now in the hands of the authorities. Last March, the Crow Creek, Lower His companion escaped. The sheriff is Brule and Cheyenne Agencies were all still in pursuit, with the prospect of recov- seized by the Military authorities. A secret investigation into their affairs, ering the treasure taken from the coach which is still incomplete, has developed a on Sept. 26. conspiracy between the agents and traders Deadwood, Dakota, Oct. 29 - “Baldy” that even startles the natives. Dr. LivingsFord, a notorious gambler, last night shot ton, of Crow Creek, was taken without and instantly killed John Russell, a Texan warning, and his office safe captured cattle man, at Sturgis City, 12 miles from before he had time to remove the evidence this place. The only cause assigned for the of his wealth and of his guilt. The mountain of testimony is still piling murder is that Fort was intoxicated and wanted to kill somebody. Ford is in jail. up against the ring, and Livingston in particular, and is simply overwhelming. It beats all former developments for thieving, perjury and forgery. The details show that they stole everything in sight, and prostituted the whole agency machinery to their private use. Feeding and civilizing the Indians was a secondary matter. The affidavits, false vouchers, forged payrolls, and ring letters laid before Commissioner Hayt prove that Livingston began his robbery in 1870, when he was first appointed. Since then he has accumulated a fortune. It is a matter of record

that besides his large landed interests, he is a part owner in three silver mines in Nevada. Livingston and his ‘pards’ owned two cattle ranches, with the stock, rations, etc. regularly supplied from the Crow Creek and Cheyenne agencies. They were both seized by the Government. They conducted a hotel, supplied regularly with beef, milk, and potatoes from the Agency, and forced the employees to board there. They used the Agency blacksmith shop and material for their private gains. All their private stock were fed at government cribs. Livingston sold the agency wood to the steamboats and the hay to the Black Hills wagon trains. Crow Creek is a stopping place on the Fort Pierre route to Deadwood. The Indian annuities and rations were stolen and sold. Two steamboats of Indian goods for the Lower Brule Agency were unloaded at Crow Creek, under the protest of the steamboat captain, who insisted they belonged to the Brule Agency. The Indians put up large quantities of hey and wood, and were paid in their own rations and annuities. The ring would then charge the government for this hay and wood, get paid for them, and then sell the same hay and wood to the steamboats, military posts, and bull-whackers, and get paid a second time. The crops raised on the reservation were sold, and the proceeds not accounted for. The trader would sell

the Indian his own potatoes. The trader’s warehouse was inside of the stockade, and 10 feet from the government warehouse, and the former was stocked from the latter. Of course, all the stolen property was reported issued to the Indians. Whole bands of Indians had their rations cut off a dozen times a year for alleged offenses, and the rations were not accounted for to the government. There were rations and annuities drawn for 300 more Indians than there were on the agency. The money appropriated by Congress, during Livingston’s administration, for the management of the Agency and employment and incidentals, amounted to $170,000. He stole all he could. His employees were all very ignorant men, and any excuse for non-receipt of wages was accepted. They were glad to get rations and clothing. The false vouchers, and they are not yet all discovered, already number 150, ranging from $50 to $1,500. One laborer, whose name, Hooker, was freely used on fraudulent vouchers, was so badly frightened by the Ring that he went into a loft and shot himself through the heart. The instances of perjuries are too numerous to mention. Livingston was an Episcopalian appointment. He gave fonts and stained glass windows to the chapels. This is only a skeleton of the worst case of plundering ever made public in the indian service in the West.

5

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

A guide to the Western Horse, Part 3 Now that you know the nomenclature for the different ways that different horses look, let’s have a little chat about the most common breeds you will find in traveling and working in the American West.

coloration--from cross breeding with Arabian and Spanish stock. They are large and sturdy, usually 16-17 hands high, with a broad chest, short neck, small ears and broad forehead. They tend to have a wide girth and slightly shortish legs. The Percheron is a willing and intelligent worker, easily trained and generally adaptable to many different climates and conditions.

Light Horses The American

The Belgian

One of the types that is most frequently seen in these parts is the breed that is simply known as the “American” horse. It is descended from horses brought to the east coast from Great Britain. They were crossed with English Thoroughbreds to get a large, good-looking, allpurpose animal. American horses are strong, smart, and generally even tempered. They can be readily taught smooth, pleasant to ride gaits, and may be used either for pulling light vehicles, or as saddle horses. They began moving west with the pioneers after the American Revolution, and now are very common in the West.

In recent years, America has begun importing the Belgian or “Brabant” horse, which is slightly lighter in build than the Percheron, but which are still incredibly strong. Generally darker in coloration, Belgians are not liked by some horsemen who claim they exhibit an “ungainly” appearance. Nonetheless, they are very solidly built and well suited to farm work. The Belgian horses also are notable for their unique sense of humor, which is often directed at the human owner.

The Clydesdale

The American Quarter Horse Quarter horses are a type that was bred to be able to run a quarter mile faster than about any other beast. They originated as “American Quarter Running horses” bred by English colonists in the 1600s, and when they were interbred with Spanish horses, they just got stronger and faster. That Spanish blood almost helped make them pretty much the best cow horses. Heavily muscled and a tad on the compact side, they are admirably suited to the work of rounding up and moving cattle, roping, etc.--they are an essential part of the Western agricultural economy.

The Plantation Walking Horse

In the late 1700s and early part of this century, settlers in Tennessee and other “over the mountain” areas of the south began selectively breeding Narragansett and Canadian pacers to produce a horse that had a smooth gait combined with incredible stamina. These walking horses are comfortable to ride and display a very even-tempered disposition. Consequently, the Plantation has a popularity in the West as a trail horse, though some riders These strong, fast animals were bred by find they are not too sure-footed in truly the Nez Perce indians, who started with rugged mountainous terrain. Spanish horses in the 1700s and selectively bred them to get the spotted coats that are the symbol of this type. They are not particularly big, but are hardy and can live off forage that would make a more civilized Descended from the animals ridden equine flare its nostrils an go on strike. by the conquistadors and still ridden by Known sometimes as the “palouse” horse, the vaqueros and many Indian tribes, the they are emblematic of the Nez Perce resis- Spanish horse is small, and deep-bodied, tance to white encroachment. with a broad forehead nd narrow face, closely-placed front legs, and a low-set tail. They have an unusually long stride and tend to have a gentle disposition when domesticated (many that survive today are Originating in America in the 1790s, feral, but can be caught and broken). They this breed is reliable, graceful and heavily make an excellent ranch and riding horse. muscled on the quarters. They are durable Nonetheless, the type is disappearing as and tireless, and do well under fire, which American horsemen are tending to mix is why they were a popular military mount them with other types, such as the Morgan in the late war. Most commonly, they and the American. It is not clear if they generally have handsome dark coloration will still be around in a recognizable form (though lighter shades do show up) and a in the next century, unless perhaps it is very upright stance that enhances the sense on some of the Indian agencies or in the wild. that they are intelligent and alert.

The Appaloosa

The Spanish Horse

The Morgan

6

This elegant and distinctive heavy horse was bred in Scotland in the 1700s and brought to this country initially in the 1840s. They are as large as Percherons. but exhibit a longer, more graceful neck and longer legs. The air of elegance is enhanced by the “feathering” on their hooves which is usually of a contrasting color. Coloration in general tends to be lighter. The Clydesdale displays a very distinctive high step in trotting, which adds to its appeal as a “fancy” draft animal for With increasing size of and use of an urban setting where the owner is trying machinery on the American farm, begin- to create an impression. ning in the middle of this century, husBy D. A. Kuhr bandmen increasingly have switched fro the use of oxen to heavy horses for draught purposes. The first heavy breed imported in significant numbers was the Percheron, which began coming to this country in 1839. Originally bred in France as a warhorse, it picked up some its most characteristics--such as the predominance of grey

Heavy Horses The Percheron

Deadwood Free Press Vol. 2 Issue 26

November 13, 1878

Take a Spin on the Floor Wheel

See previous issues for the perils of this young heroine and her adventures

The Perilous Journeys of Mary Sue Sweetlyness Episode 6 By Miss Adele Leeland

Deadwood gaming houses may well wish to consider a fine line of the latest technology, floor wheel machines imported by Judge Eun as part of an extention of his Number 10 mercantile exchange.

These games are for those who don’t trust a human dealer or who may wish to enjoy the latest technology. Floor machines are normally found with a large color wheel in the center of the machine in which you bet on the color the wheel will stop on.

Mary Sue Sweetliness felt odd lying there, unable to move her head, arms or legs. In fact, she was not even sure they still existed. Was she dead? Was she a floating spirit above its corpse waiting for freedom by the side of the river; her family and friends swallowed up by nature’s tantrum the night before now looking for her on the other side of God’s heavenly gate? A beatific smile crossed her lips as, in her mind, she imagined what a vision of serene immortality she must appear. “At last, I shall see my beloved,” she thought, anticipating the moment when St. Peter himself would descend from lofty heights, take her hand in his and lead her up the golden ladder. Heart fluttering in anticipation, Mary Sue put her mind in a place of peace lest St. Peter come upon her with an inappropriate frown. Quickly she prepared. She found she had lips and bit them to deep pinkness and held her breath a few moments – long enough to blush her milky white cheek. And lastly, she composed her facial features in a pleasing arrangement. What one should do in such circumstance she could not tell. It did not seem appropriate to call out after all, St. Peter might have a great many appointments after such a storm. No, she would pass the test of patience. If hours existed on the other side, she did not know – but they passed. First one, then another, and then another. The sun tracked over head and began its slow decent. Mary Sue came to the end of every recitation and prayer she knew. It was dark? How much time had passed now? Her eyes tracked to the right and the left, up and down, searching for a landmark and finding none. A large bird settled near and let out a startling squawk. “Uh!” as eyebrows shot up and met in the middle. “He is only tardy, she reasoned, and that is hardly the worst sin,” she muttered, not entirely believing it as an unpleasant itch settled upon her nose. “Oh bother!” she exclaimed, contorting her face - most would agree she thought, that should ones nose itch in heaven, one should be provided mean by which to grant comfort. At long last, when the last vestiges of light streaked purple over a blanket of stars and evening breezes stirred their lazy finger tips through the soft grasses, low

voices began to carry over the wind. Craning her ears to hear, a call here, a murmur there, was it singing? Mary Sue instantly forgave the long wait. How could she do otherwise in the company of seraph’s, come to bare her on to her heavenly home upon their shoulders? Never had the sound of manly voices, the rustle of their feet in the grasses coming nearer and the soft skitter of stones upon the road contained so much music. “Son of a bitch! Charlie, come look here!.” “OW!,” Mary Sue cried out, her hair held fast in the mud, “P-Peter?” Fer fuck sakes?” spat his shuffling cohort, “What the hell is she doing?” The two men knelt down incredulous shoving the lantern in her face, doubly attacking the distressed damsel with harsh lamp light and putrid odor as waves of putrid gasses emitted from unwashed crevices and unkempt beards stiff with dried tobacco juice, burning her eyes and nasal passages. “She’s worse than a half dead grasshopper stuck in molasses!” laughed one man obliviously to the other as they futilely tried to tear free the skirts, starched petticoats and flaxen curls, held fast as cement in the dried mud of the creek bed. “Sheet” grinned the man ignoring her sobs of protest “Only one thing I can think of to do” he said with a wink, gesturing towards the pail hanging off his cart. “Nooo,” Mary Sue screamed, a plaintive whistle of protest emitting from her very soul, setting aloft a cacophony of winged river birds. “Shad up!” the man yelled back, “Would ya rather we cut em off Idjit?” “I bet she were drunk” chuckled the other as he stood up, scratched a particular spot on his scalp and went for the bucket. Strident, heart breaking shrieks filled the air as pail after pail of friged river water accuratly shloshed over the target. “I am in hell!” bubbled Mary Sue through a mouth full of river water and sand. Doubled over with laughter, the grimy strangers once more closed hands upon her soggy garments, at last ripping her loose from the river bed, leaving much of her skirt and a good portion of flaxen strands rooted in the dried mud like golden saplings.” “Not yet, Darlin,” Said the man, laughing. “Not yet.”

To be continued...

7