“Where does she live? Do you know?”
“Somewhere on Griffin Street, I think. They call it the Palace Princess Emporium, and it’s the biggest and gaudiest house on the block.”
That evening, just before dark, Janey put on one of the dresses she had worn when she was a distraction for Garner, and went to the Palace Princess Emporium. She knocked on the door.
Chicago Sue answered it. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone who is going to make you a lot of money,” Janey said.
Chicago Sue looked at her and chuckled. “Honey, you just might at that. Come on in.”
Janey followed Chicago Sue into her house, through an attractive foyer with a Turkish carpet, and into a drawing room. The walls were covered with a deep crimson wallpaper and the furniture was painted white with a rich gilding of gold that complemented the damask-patterned blue area rugs. The divan and the chairs were shades of greens and blues.
The women sat across from each other and Chicago Sue asked, “Now, dear, where have you worked before?”
Janey started to say that she had worked for Belle Robb but decided against it. She wouldn’t be able to answer any questions if Chicago Sue started asking questions about the business. Taking a deep breath, Janey said, “I’ve never worked anywhere before. At least, not in a place like this.”
Chicago Sue frowned. “Oh? And when you say, a place like this, what do you mean?”
“A place this elegant.”
The frown left Chicago Sue’s face, replaced by a smile. “How sweet of you. Yes, it is elegant, isn’t it?”
“Very elegant.”
“Have you ever worked as a paid woman before?”
“No.”
“Then what brings you to me? It isn’t as if you have the usual hard-time story. Not dressed as you are.”
“I had a friend who was in the business. I spent some time with her.”
“But you didn’t go on the line for her? Why not? You obviously have nothing against the concept, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I-I guess I just wasn’t ready yet.”
“But you are now?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell me that you aren’t a virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin.”
“Thank God we can get that out of the way then. What is your name?”
“My name is Janey Jensen.”
Chicago Sue shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”
“Of course it is. I know my own name.”
“You know it, and now I know it. But I’d strongly advise against using your real name in a business like this. No one does.” She smiled. “You don’t really think my name is Chicago Sue, do you? It isn’t Sue, and hell, I’ve never even been to Chicago.”
Janey laughed. “I didn’t think that was your real name.”
“Do you want to choose your own name? Or shall I give you a name to use?”
“You give me a name.”
“All right.” Chicago Sue crossed one arm across her chest and lifted the other to grasp her chin as she studied Janey. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, it will be perfect for you.”
“What will be perfect?”
“Your new name. I’ve always liked the name Lil. Your new name will be Lil.” She shook her head slightly. “No, not just Lil. It will be Fancy Lil.”
“Fancy Lil.” Janey smiled broadly. “I like it.”
“Have you eaten anything?” Chicago Sue asked.
“I had lunch,” Janie said.
“Not dinner?”
“No.”
“I haven’t eaten, either. Come with me. Mrs. Peabody has probably already gone to bed but I’m sure I can rustle us up something.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you take coffee or tea?”
“Coffee normally, but it seems a little late for that.”
Chicago Sue chuckled. “Oh, honey, if you plan to work here, your days and nights will be backward. My girls are just getting started. And a good strong cup of coffee will keep you going.”
“All right, coffee then,” Janey said.
“Where did you come from?” Sue asked as they walked to the kitchen.
“Fort Worth.”
“Nobody comes from Fort Worth. You were somewhere else first. Where is that?”
“Missouri,” Janey said without being more specific.
“Something brought you to me, didn’t it? I mean, I don’t think you grew up thinking that one day you might want to be a soiled dove.”
“Soiled dove?”
“It’s a rather genteel way we have of referring to ourselves. Other words are so harsh.”
“No, I can’t say as I grew up wanting to be a soiled dove.”
“I wouldn’t think so. Are you running from the law or a man?”
“I would say it is more of a situation that I’m running from.”
“Are you with child?”
“No.”
“That’s good. In our business, babies can really complicate things.” Chicago Sue took down two cups, then picked up the coffeepot.
“Do you take cream or sugar?”
“I drink it black.”
“Smart move,” Chicago Sue said as she poured the coffee.
CHAPTER 6
One thing about being with Briggs raiders was that Kirby didn’t have to spend all his time with them. The Ghost Riders would take part in an operation or two, then they would disband and he would actually go back home for weeks at a time.
According to Briggs, doing it that way made it less likely that the Yankees would be able to catch up with them.
Late spring, 1864
Kirby returned to Galena, his first time in town in over a month. As he always did when returning home, he checked at the post office, not really expecting to get any mail. To his surprise, he did get a letter, but it wasn’t from his father, and it was addressed to Mrs. Pearl Jensen. Kirby opened the letter before he even left the post office.
Dear Mrs. Jensen.
It is with much regret that I tell you that your son, Luke Jensen, was killed in battle on Wilderness Creek in Northern Virginia. We didn’t find the body, but believe that the Yankees found him on the battlefield and buried him.
Sincerely,
Colonel Edward Willis
12th Georgia, Commanding
Kirby folded the letter up and put it in his pocket, wondering if his pa knew about it. Perhaps not, since the last word he had received from his pa said that he and Luke had been separated.
Back outside, Kirby climbed onto Ange’s back. When he was riding with Briggs, he was mounted on a horse, but the horse didn’t belong to him.
Briggs had offered to give him one of the Yankee horses, but pointed out that it might be dangerous. “If the Yankee soldiers come through and find you mounted on one of their horses, they’ll hang you for being a bushwhacker. If not for that, for horse stealing. On the other hand, if they see you ridin’ a mule, they won’t give you a second thought.”
Briggs had been right. More than once Kirby had encountered Yankee soldiers, but to the soldiers, he was nothing more than a farm boy, riding a mule.
Two events occurred in Missouri that had some bearing on the fate of the war within the state. The first was on October 26 when Yankees located Bloody Bill Anderson just outside Glasgow. Though greatly outnumbered, Anderson and his men charged the Union forces, killing five or six of them before encountering heavy fire. Only Anderson and Elmer Gleason continued the attack, Gleason riding side by side with his leader. The others retreated.
Anderson was hit by a bullet behind his ear and killed instantly. Gleason immediately turned and joined the others in retreat. Four other guerrillas were also killed in the attack, but the rest of the men were able to escape.
The second significant event occurred when General Sterling Price was defeated by General James Blunt’s Union cavalry in the battle of Newtonia. Price and his entire corps withdrew, effectively ending any real Confederate pre
sence in Missouri. No longer were any regular Confederate troops in Missouri, but sporadic guerrilla operations continued.
Archie Clement led what had been Bloody Bill’s guerrillas for a little while after Anderson’s death, but the group splintered by mid-November, and most of the men joined Quantrill, though many, realizing that the war was lost, gave up the battle.
Elmer Gleason was the only man of Anderson’s original group to join Asa Briggs. Shortly after he joined Briggs’ group, he recognized Kirby by the gun he was carrying. “You’re the boy Jesse give one of his guns to, ain’t you? It was right after your ma was killed, as I recall.”
“I’m the one,” Kirby said. “I remember you. You’re the one who wondered if I was old enough to run the farm.”
“You’ve got a good memory.” Gleason was at least fifteen years older, but he and Kirby became very good friends.
Briggs continued to operate as he always had, uniting his group for a particular undertaking, then having them break up and return to their homes. That ruse worked so well that the participation of most members was unknown, even to their nearest neighbors. From time to time, the men would encounter each other in town or on the road but would make no show of recognition.
The Union Army had no idea who was and who wasn’t a member of the group, giving credence to the sobriquet “Ghost Riders.”
Kirby’s biggest disappointment during his time with Briggs was that they had not encountered Angus Shardeen. They came close once, arriving at a farm just in time to save a farmer and his wife.
Shardeen had been through an hour earlier, robbing the smoke house of the cured hams and bacon. In a macabre joke, he had tied a noose around the woman’s neck and thrown the rope over a beam protruding from the hayloft of the barn. He placed her on her husband’s shoulders so that she would live only as long as he could stand there supporting her.
The farmer was at the point of exhaustion when the Ghost Riders arrived.
“Kirby! Get up there and cut her down!” Asa Briggs ordered, and Kirby stood on his saddle and pulled himself up into the hayloft. He cut the rope just as her husband collapsed.
They stayed with the couple until both had recovered from the ordeal, spending the night in the barn.
“I’m going to kill him,” Kirby told Elmer.
“Yeah, we would all like to get our hands on him before this war ends.”
“No, not like to kill him. I am going to kill him,” Kirby said. “I’m going to hunt him down, no matter where he is and no matter how long it takes. I don’t care whether the war is still going or whether the war has ended. I am going to dedicate myself to finding him. And when I find him, I’m going to kill him.”
January 1865
Briggs’ Ghost Riders who had not taken part in the battle for Newtonia found themselves in position to, in Briggs’ words, “hit the Yankees a lick.” They were going to rob the payroll being transported to the Baxter Springs post.
“The best way to hurt ’em is to take their money,” Briggs said. “And that’s just what we’re agoin’ to do.”
To that end, the Ghost Riders were waiting in a cornfield alongside the Columbus Road in Cherokee County. It was very cold.
Kirby shivered in the early morning chill.
“Damn. Why couldn’t we wait and do this in the summer time?” Elmer Gleason complained.
“I don’t know,” Kirby said. “Do you think it might be because the payroll is comin’ today and not this summer?”
“There you go, gettin’ all practical on me,” Elmer teased.
“Asa! The coach is acomin’!” one of the others called.
“All right. Get ready.”
Kirby crept up to the edge of the cornfield, then lay down where he would have a good view of the road. He could hear the rumble and squeak of the approaching coach, as well as the drum of hoofbeats, not only from the team, but also from the eight men who were riding as escort.
Briggs pulled his pistol. “I’m goin’ to shoot one of the coach horses. After that, all hell’s goin’ to break loose, so get ready.”
The coach and outriders were close enough that Kirby could hear the driver’s whistles and shouts to the team. He didn’t like the idea of shooting an innocent horse but knew that in order for the plan to succeed, it would have to be done.
Briggs fired, and the first, off-side horse stumbled and went down, bringing the coach to an immediate halt.
Within the opening seconds, at least four of the Union soldiers were down. Others tried to return fire, but were unable to find a target. They simply fired wildly into the cornfield.
“Let’s get outta here!” one of the soldiers shouted, and the others fled at a gallop.
The Ghost Riders cheered, then ran out onto the road and yelled after the retreating soldiers with cat calls and jeers.
The coach driver had been unarmed and had not taken part in the brief battle. He was still sitting on the high seat with his hands in the air.
“Throw down that strong box,” Briggs called.
“What for?” the driver replied. “There ain’t nothin’ in it.”
“What do you mean, there ain’t nothin’ in it? You went to pick up the payroll, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s what we went to do all right. But the money wasn’t there.”
“I don’t believe you,” Briggs said.
“I’ll throw down the strong box ’n let you see for yourself.”
“All right. Do it.”
The driver reached down between his legs.
Briggs pointed his gun and called out, “No, hold it. Climb down here. I’ll get the strong box myself.”
Nodding, and obviously frightened, the driver climbed down from the high seat.
Briggs climbed up, retrieved the strong box, then tossed it down onto the road. “Open it up.”
“Kirby, you’re the best shot among us,” Elmer said. “Think you can shoot the lock off?”
Kirby nodded, pulled his pistol, and fired. The bullet cut the hasp.
Elmer opened the lid and looked inside. “It’s empty.”
“I’ll be damned.” Briggs jumped down from the coach and ordered, “Cut the team loose and let the horses go.”
The driver, who still had his hands raised, protested. “No need for that. All I need to do is cut the dead horse free, then I can go on.”
“You can go on, but it’s goin’ to be afoot,” Briggs said. “Now, cut the team loose, unless you want to see ’em burn to death when I set fire to the coach.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to see no more of the horses killed.” The driver set about the task Briggs had set for him.
Half an hour later, with the driver and horses gone, the dozen Ghost Riders stood near the burning coach, enjoying the heat it was putting out.
“Boys,” Briggs said. “I reckon this war is all but over. I aim to give it up. You’re all free to go wherever you want.” He pointed to the coach. “I had planned for this to be the last operation anyway, but I hoped we’d have some Yankee money to divide before we broke up. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Hell, Asa, you don’t mind if some of us go ahead ’n try ’n get some of that Yankee money, do you?” Elmer asked.
“I don’t mind at all, but you’re on your own. I’m out of it.”
“What are you going to do?” Kirby asked.
“I’m goin’ to Texas,” Briggs said. “You want to come along?”
“Now, why would he want to do that when he can come with me ’n get some of that Yankee money?” Elmer asked.
Kirby shook his head. “I appreciate the invite from both of you and would be honored to join either one of you, but I reckon my pa will be coming back sometime soon now. I wouldn’t want him to come home ’n find nobody waitin’ there for him.”
“How do you know your pa is still alive?” Elmer asked.
“Truth is, Elmer, I don’t know. But if he is, I aim to be there waitin’ for him. Most especially since there ain’t g
oin’ to be no one else waitin’ there for ’im.”
Elmer nodded. “I can see that.” He stuck his hand out. “Don’t know as we’ll ever run acrossed each other again, but, don’t let nobody never call you boy no more. You’re a man, Kirby, and you done proved it more ’n oncet.”
Returning to the farm, the first thing Kirby did was dig up the lidded Mason jar he had buried near the corner of the outhouse. It contained the two thousand dollars he’d received from the crops that first year. If his pa came back, he would give him the money. If he didn’t come back, Kirby would have that money to start out on his own.
The stench around the outhouse was pretty intense, but it was for precisely that reason he had chosen to bury the money there. He figured nobody would think someone would choose such a place to bury money, and it was unlikely anyone would make any exploratory digs there.
It took only a few minutes to get to the jar, and with a smile, he reached down to retrieve it. The smile faded when he saw that the money was gone, replaced by a note.
Kirby,
I took the money to invest with Paul Garner. I figure half of it is mine anyway, and I’ll pay you back your half, with interest.
Janey
“Janey! You sorry-assed hellcat!” Kirby shouted at the top of his voice. He threw the jar against the side of the outhouse and watched it shatter.
By June, six months after Kirby made his last ride with the Ghost Riders, the war had been over and done for better than two months. If his father was coming home, he should be along any time.
Kirby had made the conscious decision not to tell his father about his own experiences during the war. His father had been with the regular army. Kirby wasn’t sure how he would take to the idea of his son having been a Bushwhacker. He remembered his father’s reaction when Luke had said he wanted to join up with George Clark, who was what his pa had said he was—a murderer and an outlaw. Briggs was an irregular, but he had not killed any innocents, nor burned any private homes or farms. Nevertheless, Kirby decided he would keep his participation in such activity to himself.
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