Cattle Kate (6 page)

William squealed. “We're being chivareed!”

He grabbed my hand to take me to the front porch, but I protested. “William, I'm in my nightgown.”

“Throw a shawl over it.” I followed his instructions and we met our neighbors outside. They were hooting and hollering and striking on those pots and pans like they were beating the tar our of the bobcat. Nancy and Jessica where there, of course, and my brothers, and Mr. MacDonald, and a few others.

“We don't have anything for you,” William pretended, and they beat those pots even more. “How about our leftovers?” he offered, and I tried to hush him because that was all we had to eat.

“Don't worry. Just put a couple things in a basket and they'll go away. This is all for show.” William knew more about this chivaree business than I did. I followed his lead and gave them a couple sandwiches and one of the jars of pickles. And indeed, they ended their “serenade” and rode off.

Thanksgiving came three days later and our whole family—including Pa—celebrated at our country church, just like the president asked us to do.

I always smile to myself when I remember how Annie made Pa going to church a national issue! Annie was becoming our official messenger—she gathered information as easily as picking flowers and was always anxious to share her knowledge. So when she got an old newspaper from a family down the way—it was already a month old, but was still news to us—Annie read every word and then came to Pa (without any prompting from Ma, I'd learn later) and declared, “President Hayes wants you to go to church on Thanksgiving.”

Pa looked at her suspiciously and so Annie read directly from the Omaha paper about the president's proclamation.

“I earnestly recommend that, withdrawing themselves from secular cares and labors, the people of the United States do meet together on that day in their respective places of worship, there to give thanks and praise to Almighty God for His mercies and to devoutly beseech their continuance.”

We all waited for Pa's response—Ma was chuckling into her apron—and he smiled to announce that he thought that was a very good idea.

Later I'd learn Pa had already planned to attend, because we all gathered for a potluck Thanksgiving dinner after services. But we didn't know that then and everyone thought it was our Annie who finally brought Pa to God.

William and I arrived in our fine buggy to a flurry of congratulations, and Thanksgiving dinner that year turned into a second celebration for us. When someone pushed William to speak after dinner, everyone could see the charming man I'd chosen when he told them: “Ellen and I thank you for this fine feast and you're welcome to throw us a dinner like this every year!” Oh, the laughter! And how proud I was.

Mrs. Eden brought a fruit cake in my honor and whispered, “An Irish girl should have a fruit cake for her wedding.” There was a special smile on Ma's face.

That was the best dinner I'd ever had, and it wasn't just because I was a new bride.

“Look at the size of that wild turkey. I've never seen one so big. Be sure you roast it until it's golden brown.”

“There's so much food here I think this holding table is going to break!”

“Those platters look like a garden. We've got corn and peas, potatoes and rutabagas and squash. Who brought kohlrabies? I love them!”

“Do you need any more pickles? I brought two jars.”

“I brought a cabbage dish.”

“So did I.”

“So did I.”

“I'm saving myself for rhubarb pie,” Mary whispered to me, and I had to agree. I wanted space left because I hadn't had any rhubarb pie since the spring.

The church lawn was filled with long tables, and we knew they'd fill up like usual—the men would all cluster at one table, the women at another, the children at a third. But Nancy and Jessica and Annie said that just wouldn't do on a Thanksgiving celebration decreed by our president.

“In honor of William and Ellen's wedding, we want all married couples to sit together,” Nancy announced. Everyone looked at each other like this was a truly novel idea.

Jessica chimed in, “Yes, our president would want families together today.” And then Annie jumped in, “Ma and Pa, why don't you sit right here? And William and Ellen, we'll put you here.”

Like sheep following the bell, we all sat down together, and what a fun dinner that was. As pie was being served, Annie stood in front of our table and announced, “I believe our president would like our celebration.” That ended the day with happy chuckles.

I didn't get a wedding ring, but I did get a wedding picture. We went to Red Cloud, a couple weeks after the wedding. William needed supplies and he said we could kill two birds with one stone. So I went along and took my wedding dress.

William sat on a velvet chair and I stood behind him with one hand on his arm. We both had a hint of a smile, because that's the fashion now. I'm glad, because I don't like that stern look so many had for so many years. It never looked like those people liked one another, and a portrait should show more than just faces. We had a little smile because we'd had such a nice wedding. And then the Thanksgiving celebration.

The next Thanksgiving all of my prayers were for children. The year after, they were
pleas
for children. By the fourth Thanksgiving of my married life, all my prayers begged for help to get me away from William.

I never did learn where he went to drink, all those Saturday nights he left our home to go off, never offering a word to explain himself, but coming home reeking so much he didn't have to. My Pa had never gone off to drink somewhere, leaving Ma and us at home. I'd never heard any other wife complain of such things, and I stayed quiet because I didn't want the embarrassment of our friends knowing I was failing somehow.

I can't even remember how many times I sat in my rocker, waiting for him to come home, worried he'd fall off his horse or get lost in the dark and die out there and leave me a widow. When I'd hear him finally come home, I'd rush into our bedroom and pretend to be asleep so he wouldn't know I'd waited up. Until that night in October when I decided it was time to stop this nonsense. It was when I confronted him that he knocked me to the floor.

How I prayed it would be the only time. I woke up the next morning to a sweet husband. He promised it would never happen again, and I wanted to believe him so much, I just put that fist out of my mind and promised to be an even better wife so he'd have no reason to go off to drink.

I wish I could say it was the only time, but it wasn't. I wish I could say I hit him back the second and third time, but I didn't. I was too ashamed to say or do anything but cower like a coward when he came home drunk. Now I rushed to bed, pretending sleep to kept me out of harm's way. And it usually worked. But not all the time.

I couldn't tell anyone. I was afraid if I told Ma, she'd tell Pa and he'd tell the boys and who knows what they'd do to William. Besides, I didn't want anyone to know, and I worried that even if I said something, people wouldn't believe me. They knew William as this sweet, charming man. Who would imagine he was so evil at home?

But mostly, I couldn't figure out why. I'm not a beauty, but I'm a good lookin' woman and I keep myself clean and pleasant. You won't find an untidy house when you come to mine, and God knows I'm a hard worker. William was always ready to sing my praises for how much I helped him on the farm. I knew for sure I pleased William with my cookin' because he gained about ten pounds the first years we were married and he always smiled at whatever I put on the table. It wasn't humbug. I'm a good cook, even a better baker, and so I knew it wasn't his home or his dinner table that wasn't up to his standards and that left only me not measuring up.

It's a hard thing for a woman to admit she doesn't please her man.

That thought slapped me in the face the first time I smelled sweet perfume on William's shirt. It had to be a mistake, I convinced myself. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was the smell of a saloon girl, but there were no saloons in Dry Kansas, at least none that were legal. And even if there was a secret saloon, certainly he'd have nothing to do with a saloon girl. Maybe he was playing poker and some girl was hanging around the table and her smell got on him and that was all it was. I remember I washed that shirt as fast as I could. But then there was the second time and the third and a woman can only ignore the truth for so long before she has to admit her husband is two-timing her.

I'll never forget Sunday morning, April 22, 1883.

I'd decided it was time to put my foot down when he finally rode up on Sterling, leaving him hitched outside. He staggered in, smellin' of that cheap perfume. I stood up from my rocker and with all my courage, I spit out the speech I'd been practicing for hours.

“William Pickell, that's enough. I won't have you coming home drunk and smellin' of another woman and I want this to stop right now.”

In my mind, I thought he'd hang his head and promise it would never happen again. I saw him ashamed of how he'd done me wrong. Then it would be over and we'd live the happy life I wanted to be ahead of us.

But he didn't hang his head and he promised nothing. Instead he grabbed his horsewhip and tried to hit me. I don't know what got into me, but this was one Sunday I wasn't going to be hit. I pushed him back and wrenched the whip out of his hands. The tussle got him off balance and he fell to the floor.

“You hit me for the last time, William Pickell,” I spat down at him. “I've been a good wife to you and it isn't enough for you. But I've had all I can take of you.”

He grabbed up for the whip, but I was faster, being sober and upright. He snickered when he missed it, and I thought it was the ugliest laugh I'd ever heard. “Drop my horsewhip right now, do you hear me, bitch?” he screamed. Pretty haughty words for a man sprawled on my clean kitchen floor. It wasn't his demand that made me react. It was the use of that awful b-word again. I looked at him a second, thinking how foolish he was if he thought I'd drop the whip so he could pick it up and use it on me.

That's when I pulled my arm straight back. With all the might I had, I let that whip slap his shoulder. I am ashamed to admit how good it felt.

I don't remember coiling my arm up again, but I did it almost automatically, and this time the leather strap raised a red mark on his cheek. When he cried out in pain, I thought it was about time he felt the hurt I'd been feeling all this time. And then I snapped the whip one more time as he threw his arms over his head and I said in a strong, clear voice, “That's for calling me that name.”

I turned and walked out of our cabin, grabbing my shawl, taking the whip with me. I was still clutching it when I rode up on Sterling to my Ma and Pa's cabin. Ma was just getting her Sunday fire going and she took one look at me and pulled me into her arms. I knew I had to tell her and Pa everything, but the first thing was, “I'm not going back. I know it's not our way, but I'm divorcing William Pickell.”

Ma closed her eyes as I told the story, as though she could shut out such shocking news. Pa looked at me with a fire that said he wanted to horsewhip William himself. But I also saw the disapproving look they shared when I announced the divorce. This wasn't a word you heard very often, almost never, actually, because that wasn't our way. You married carefully because you were married for life, and I had believed that until this morning. But I sure didn't believe it anymore.

By now, my brothers and sisters had gathered and Pa didn't even have to turn around to tell his sons, “I want you boys to leave this alone.” I could see John was already whipping up his anger. “I mean it,” Pa added, and made the boys promise they wouldn't go over and beat the hell out of William Pickell. The girls were all crying, especially little Mary, and Annie had this look like this was the worst news she had ever heard.

Ma insisted I go up to my old bed in the loft, and although I protested that I should help her make breakfast, she wouldn't hear of it. I was awful glad because I'd been up all night and I was so tired I could hardly see. I slept through that whole day and when I woke up it was laundry day and everyone was busy.

Ma asked if I'd make the soda bread. I took down the green crock she always used and was kneading when she came in and stood next to me. “How bad was it?” she asked, and all I could choke out was that it was real bad.

I stayed at Ma and Pa's the next year, like I'd never left.

William came by again and again, demanding I come home, but my Pa or one of my brothers always stood in the doorway and sent him away. The boys and Annie went out to our cabin to get my things—William stood there to be sure they took nothing but my clothes and bonnet. I don't know what ever happened to the quilt I'd started piecing, but it didn't come back with them and it wasn't worth a second trip because I can always start a new quilt.

I knew Ma understood why I'd never go back, but I think Pa hoped this would blow over and things would go back to normal.

The day I burned my wedding dress put an end to all the fantasies that I'd go back to William.

I did all the preparations up in the loft at night, so nobody could try to stop me. I cut off the nineteen buttons—buttons are too precious to waste under any circumstance, so I saved them for my sisters. I ripped the dress into pieces. That pretty dress was nothing but a mound of fraying ripped cloth by the time I was done. One Tuesday, a month after I'd come home, I carried the pieces down in my apron and threw them on the burning trash pile. At first Ma didn't realize what I was burning, and when she saw, she wailed, “Oh Ellen, that's such a waste!”

I gave her a look. “There is no chance a woman will ever go back to a bad husband after she's burned her wedding dress.” And I bet that's exactly what she told Pa, because he never mentioned me going back again.