Saved by the Bullet

by Preston Shires

  “I saw him at the wharf two hours ago looking over merchandise, perhaps he’s expecting something?”

  I couldn’t think of anything.

  Our newspaper editor, with his friend the sheriff at his side, called the meeting to order. Once discussion ensued, many ideas for food and entertainment came forth. I volunteered to help organize a dance and suggested a choir be formed to encourage us with patriotic hymns.

  We finally came to the issue of speakers, and Mr. Furnas noted that we had a full bill of male orators, but that he had heard that the settlement on the Big Blue River expected to have a female Cicero harangue the plebs. It seemed like a fine exercise to him and one that might encourage women to settle among us if we had a lady equal to the task. “What we need,” he orated, “is someone of an educated mind, someone who has an opinion other women might identify with, and who is no coward.” He paused and looked out upon the audience as if soliciting a volunteer. I followed his eyes across the sea of faces and discovered only moustaches and goatees. As my gaze circled back to his, I discovered his eyes had fallen on me.

  “Miss Furlough,” he announced, “would be more than gracious to honor us with her encouraging and patriotic thoughts. Do I hear any who might object?”

  I was stunned into silence, and I thought I heard a disapproving murmur arising from the rear, but it was hard to determine because Mr. Furnas let pass but half a breath, before his fist slammed down on the table before him as he declared, “Motion passed! Seeing that Sheriff Coleman seconds it, right James?”

  “It’s your idea,” replied the lawman skeptically.

  Stewart smiled and chuckled and patted me on the hand. “A right good choice,” he said encouragingly.

  I was still dumbfounded at meeting’s end and sought out Mr. Furnas. I believe he was avoiding me, so I placed myself next to the only door, and he had no choice but to cross my path.

  “I thank you for your community spirit,” he said in an effort to slip past me.

  I was in no mood to be brushed aside so easily. “Why would you want me speaking at the celebration?” I asked as I grabbed ahold of his sleeve. “You and I hardly see eye to eye on the weighty issues of the day.”

  “I want you to be just as provocative and as objectionable to me as possible. Don’t you worry about whom you’re pleasing or displeasing, my good lady,” he said while placing his reassuring hand upon my mine.

  “Whatever can be your motive?”

  “Why, publicity my dear friend. I run the Advertiser. We want our community known throughout the States. And I can think of no better way of being heard than letting a single-minded woman vent her thoughts.”

  Having explained this, he passed on.

  Somehow, I didn’t know quite how to feel. Was I being used? Certainly. But was this not also an opportunity given me by God to make a difference, to help shape our world? No doubt it was that as well. The Athenians prompted the Apostle to speak his foreign message from their pulpit, why shouldn’t I avail myself of Mr. Furnas’s?

  With each step homeward bound, my spirits lifted. I crowded my mind with the well-turned phrases I would use to advance abolitionism and the duty of men to serve their wives, and of wives to edify their husbands.

  As I crossed the home porch, my front door swung open with Teddy occupying its frame.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you in the house, Addy!” he said gleefully. “I found ‘em down at the wharf!”

  Looking at him with wonder I could but note how much I approved of the new and sensible Teddy. It’s true that he always sought to please, but traditionally he had been always off the mark. But, as he had become more responsible in his own private life, as when he picked up his clothes and placed them in the trunk at the office, he had come to understand the needs of others better.

  “And look,” he said, reaching into a pocket, “I got my pay as well! Here’s your ten dollars back, and counting up the other times I’ve borrowed, or eaten off your plate, I figure I owe you a good forty more as well.” He extended his hand and I instinctively refused, but he would not accept my refusal and pressed the money into my hand.

  Teddy had been right, it appeared. This “tomorrow,” which Mr. Whitt had repeatedly alluded to, finally came, and it had a lot of yesterdays bound up into it. What a windfall. In my hands was not money, but a wonderful and patriotic dress for the Fourth and rubber boots for my garden. And to think he bought me that red cushioned chair and a sizeable and well-sculpted side table as well. I threw my arms around him and hugged him with all my might.

  Looking over his shoulders, though, I did not see the table and chair I sought. I saw instead my dining room chairs in my parlor forming a half circle facing me, but what disturbed me is what Teddy had put in two of them. In one sat Miss Straightlace, and in the other, Jonathan Withers, her brother.

  * * *

  Jonathan Withers stood up. He gave a curt bow and extended his hand to receive mine. I don’t know if you have a fear of spiders, but I believe I inherited this trait from Eve herself. I think the only reason the Bible speaks of Lucifer as a snake is that if he had been a spider, no woman would have read the Bible.

  In any case, I remembered my elder brother Jerome bringing me an oblong box, a handspan wide and a foot in length. He asked me if I wanted a cookie. My other brothers rubbed their tummies telling me how good they were. Being a little girl, I could think of nothing better to put in a box, so I reached in. When I hit bottom with my fingers, I felt a tickling rushing up my hand, along my forearm, and onto my shoulder. It was the biggest, hairiest arachnid a brother could find. I screamed, slapped at my shoulder, hopped up and down, and sprinted for my life, and all at the same time.

  Well, in seeing Jonathan’s extended hand, I felt like I was reaching back into that box.

  “What a surprise,” I managed. As Jonathan lightly kissed my hand, I couldn’t help but look away as if I were undergoing a bloodletting.

  “I imagine it has become lonely here in the Territory,” he said. “We’ve come to keep you company. I can’t imagine the dullness of conversation amidst these ploughmen.”

  I noticed my hand still captive and I tugged at it as if I wished to shake hands with Miss Straightlace.

  “So amazing,” I said to her, “to think you made it out all this way.”

  “Yes, but Jonathan is ever a comfort, always seeing to my every need.” She paused, scanned the walls and ceiling, then resumed, “What an adequate little hovel, so much the frontier.”

  “To really experience our life,” I said suggestively, “a house of sod, or perhaps of log is really the ticket.”

  “I can’t imagine, nor need I. Your father has been most generous in encouraging me to come, and explaining what a hostess you are, dear Addy.”

  “Now isn’t that sweet of Father,” I said.

  “Your father has done so well by himself. To think, nearly one-hundred and forty dollars per share on the Illinois Central, I hear. How many shares does he have? It must be substantial, as he’s kindly paid my way out.”

  “Apparently too many,” I said.

  Miss Straightlace cocked her head wonderingly at me. Then I remembered she was ever at a loss for understanding my comments. She was like those disciples that followed our Lord about, never understanding his parables. The only difference is that Jesus finally took them aside and conked them on the head so that they understood. I planned on doing no such thing.

  Jonathan never paid much mind to what I said, or anybody else. He was too engrossed in furthering his personal objectives, which usually consisted of making others think he was the brightest star in the sky since the latest comet, and just as breathtaking.

  “Oh,” said Miss Straightlace finally. “You are so cagey. I suppose it is none of my business. In any case, he is a fine man, and so rightly concerned about your welfare. When I suggested I would love to travel west he immediately inquired if I meant to grace you with a visit, and if I’d be generous enough to deliver your stipend
to you. I understood immediately he wished me to do so, and replied in the affirmative. He insisted I bring brother Jonathan as a companion.”

  “How thoughtful,” I said on the same tone I’d spoken of my father’s stocks.

  My father is not a mean man. He and I share much in common, especially in temperament. Indeed, I think my mother regrets that she and I don’t share in conversation as much as father and I. However, there is something wickedly teasing in Father, and he can read a personality in one glance more accurately than can a palmist read a hand in a day. He knows I loathe Prudence Withers, and that any self-respecting woman would rather reach into a box of cookies offered by Jerome than spend a minute with Jonathan.

  Teddy knew of the Withers, since they lived in our neck of the woods back in Ohio, but did not know them as I knew them. Teddy was much younger and had not borne the hair-shirt of attending Oberlin College with Prudence.

  In this ignorance, Teddy asked them how long they would be staying with us.

  While Jonathan advanced to the looking glass to adjust his cravat, Prudence informed us she would be staying but a month to lend moral support, and she was expected to return to Ohio to report back to my father on how Teddy and I were getting along.

  I think it was the word “month” mixed in with the image of “bloodletting” that got the better of me. The world around me became shadows and I felt my body sway. Then nothing more do I recollect.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jonathan, with his airs of nobility, refused to share Teddy’s quarters at the office, explaining that if Teddy were not present each day, he himself could not be expected to stoop to making his own meals. He went on to the Nebraska House, where Kitty later told me she understood why he could never be a cook: He hadn’t the patience. He expected his food to magically appear before him on the table within thirty seconds of pronouncing the words ‘I’m famished.’

  Jonathan’s sister made space for herself in my bedroom. While I was recovering from my swoon, she rearranged my furniture to her liking, which enabled her to pull my spare mattress up close to mine that we might chat into the wee hours of the morn. I feigned to have another bout of apoplexy, which preserved me until sunrise.

  I always am prepared to attend church on Sabbath morn, but on this particular Sunday I was doubly anxious to get going and escape my new family. Having donned a particularly cheerful dress to match my spirits, I set out. Prudence, however, had detected my movement and prevented my evasion. Requiring me to wait a moment while she dressed, she soon joined me. On our way, she kept stride with me, taking me by the arm and again gushing about how wonderful it was to be among friends. She went on at length about her dress, asking me to guess where she bought it. A funeral parlor I suggested.

  “Oh, no, dear Addy,” she said. “They don’t sell clothing there, except for those poor souls who haven’t the means to own anything becoming in life. I made this dress myself, so suited for church and any occasion, though I do keep a light yellow one, but only for picnics on hot summer days. I should hope I could make you one as I wear now. I looked at your wardrobe and it’s most unsatisfactory for a Christian lady.”

  Miss Straightlace delivered a rather lengthy discourse on the proper style and purpose of vestments. I nearly pitied her. She was plain in appearance, a nose too small for her face, a lower lip too large. But she could be improved upon with a little care. She did have attractive eyes and petite ears that could be enhanced by earrings. Not that I’m one to endorse fancies, but one must look one’s best without playing the part of an actress.

  Soon, her conversation moved on to other topics. She didn’t want to impose on me, she said, but she understood that Mr. Furlough, (my father), graciously underwrote their trip but also indicated that his daughter would see to their lodgings.

  I knew where she was headed with this preamble. “Prudence,” I said, “I offered Jonathan a room of sorts at my office. Besides, I understand, he has been making his way in the world of business, so I’m rather astounded he wouldn’t expect to supply himself with lodgings.”

  “Oh, yes, dear. You’re perfectly right. He is most adept at business. He’s been everywhere successful. I know you can’t but admire his achievement, but he’s told me half his money is tied up in stocks and the other half he has lent out at a profitable interest.”

  If I didn’t pay for his room, I could foresee Jonathan’s next move...right into my house, where I would be expected to serve him hand and foot. “Yes, I’m sure he’s grand at what he does,” I said. “And I understand that he doesn’t have ready access to his funds. So let me pay his room and board there. But won’t he be lonely? Don’t you think you might want to share a room next to his?”

  “Oh, no, Addy. I wouldn’t do that to you. Jonathan does well on his own, among people. He’s very popular, always finds someone to talk to. And I do think you’ll come to appreciate him more and more, if that can be imagined, but it is also so nice to be just the two of us. There’s nothing like a friendship nurtured in youth, where souls grow up side by side, learning the ropes of life together. We know each other as well as sisters.”

  “Yes, I do know you well.”

  Prudence’s conversation now diverged yet again. She had all sorts of ideas for rearranging the other rooms of my house, but I warned her not to fatigue herself overmuch, considering her lengthy journey and that she must store up energy for the return trip.

  * * *

  Waiting for Reverend Wood to commence the service, I introduced Prudence and her brother, who appeared with Teddy at his side, to friends and neighbors. Kitty and Stewart were in attendance. The usual chit-chat ensued concerning the weather and the condition of crops, but it also included things proper to the frontier, such as the birth of a new township located twenty miles south, far below our nearest southern neighbor, Nemaha City, but on the route to Pawnee City. They shamefully named it Breckenridge, after our vice-president who hasn’t a care in the world for the enslaved.

  The thought of Pawnee City brought to mind my dear lost aunt, wandering about the hills as part of the rear guard of a hunting party, I suspected. I awaited autumn with impatience: the Pawnee would all be at a rendez-vous with the government, as I understood it, to negotiate a treaty. No doubt someone amongst them would have heard of “Hair on Fire”. That’s my aunt’s Indian name. Perhaps she would be there herself?

  I pondered this in my heart as we took our seats, Jonathan placing his back squarely in front of me. Suddenly Reverend Wood’s voice interrupted my contemplation about Hair on Fire. “Shall we be as savages,” he called out, “condemned to the eternal flames? Let us hold on to God, our Savior, and in song.”

  The thrill of singing out our faith in unison can only be likened to General Washington’s troops stepping out toward Yorktown, knowing that the decisive hour had come to bring down tyranny. I hoped they marched in unison better than we sang, for it seemed that in our frontier church each squatter sang to his own melody.

  When we ran out of song and ritual, we came to the sermon. “How do we hold on to God?” asked the minister. “By letting go of the world. By letting go of our worldly desires. By letting go of our passions for the things of this world! Be it money, be it fame, be it dance!” He held his breath for a moment, but I believe his eyes wandered in our direction, but I slunk down on my school bench, now appreciative of Jonathan for having placed his broad shoulders so squarely in front of me. While I hid, I heard Miss Straightlace utter an “amen” of approval.

  Disappointed in not finding the object of his search, Reverend Wood lifted his chin and declaimed, “Dance.... This unreasoned emotionalism, this carrying on of the body, guided only by the brute passions of the old nature, cannot be of the Lord. Did not the Sermon on the Mount warn us against our lusts? When the last trumpet sounds, there will be no dance.” He scanned the audience anew, just as my schoolmaster used to do, looking down upon the classroom, trying to identify which little girl had been whispering to her neighbor; then, not having f
ound his target, the reverend concluded with “But there will be Judgment!”

  After the service, Prudence presented herself to the minister, congratulating him on his sermon. I kept my distance, but could nonetheless hear her. “It’s the duty of us all,” she lectured, “to keep people focused on things spiritual. And that extends to the way one dresses as well. Somber colors keep the spirit from the gaiety that leads to so many a misadventure. I do hope you have a chance,” she concluded discreetly, yet not discreet enough for my inquisitive ears, “to impart these verities privately to Miss Furlough.”

  He nodded approval while rubbing his eye thoughtfully, no doubt reminiscing about the only dance I ever sponsored in Brownville. It was to celebrate the building of my house. Unfortunately, at the end, the cotillion got rather out of hand and the men folk, whose footwork was questionable, began adding fists and elbows. In the general melee, Reverend Wood failed to keep in time and received a ball of knuckles to the eye he presently massaged. I imagine it was this little incident that inspired the day’s sermon.

  Now as for his comments on spirituality, I want to establish clearly that I’m not at all opposed to spirituality, but God gave us a body along with our spirit, and in concert, both can enjoy the wonders of this world he happily placed under our dominion. Think about it, it is God who created us so sensitively that our hearts leap and our bosoms fill with joy as we step to a tune. What Miss Straightlace and her new-found Demosthenes have done is to divide the world in twain: spiritual actions and physical actions. According to their recipe, all we have to do is avoid physical actions and we’ll be spiritual, and therefore blessed of God.

  I argue that these are not only pointless efforts but also impediments to living life in full measure. Someone once said, and I cannot agree more, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” And that Someone got rid of all the restrictive religious laws the priests and rabbis imposed upon an overburdened people. Why should we go back to those former days?