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Mid-August 1879
Bertha sat on the front porch of the house, fanning her face, waiting for James to escort her to lunch. Was it always this hot in Deadwood? At least it wasn’t humid like the places she’d been in the South, but lordy. Sweat trickled down the back of her dress.
She sighed. Another boring day in another boring town. She’d managed to make a few friends in the past few months. If she could control her acidic voice, maybe she could keep them. They were friendly to her face, for that she was thankful, or she’d earn a few more beatings from James.
Bertha took a deep breath, feeling the seams on her dress stretch. If she didn’t do something soon, she’d have to take her clothes back to that Julia Lindstrom girl who did sewing and alterations. With all the perspiring she was doing, she should be the size of a twig.
She glanced down at the gown she wore today. It was one James had purchased for her. The colors were horrible, bright yellow with huge blue and green flowers. Did he want her to look hideous? One would think he’d want her to look nice to impress people.
A bee buzzed around one of the flowers on her dress. “Sorry, Mr. Bee, no nectar in these things.” After a few seconds, it flew off and landed on a yellow flower nearly matching the color of her dress.
While checking the watch pinned to her dress, her stomach growled. Where was he? He was supposed to get her at noon, and it was one. It wasn’t like him to be late. Dare she venture out on her own and go to his bank? Or should she have Moira make something for her? Either one would get her in trouble.
Moira and she still hadn’t warmed up to each other. She’d had such high hopes of having a friend on her side when James became volatile, but no luck. She removed her bonnet and picked up the speed of her fan. James would have a fit that he’d have to wait three seconds for her to put it back on, but she couldn’t stand the heat. Sometimes, she didn’t care what he did to her. Sometimes, she simply wanted it to be over. Not that she’d do anything to herself, but there was always the hope one of his customers would get angry with his shady dealings and put him six feet under. She could go back to Minnesota where summer days could be hot, but they didn’t drag on for days on end. But she didn’t have anyone left she wanted to see. Ever since she’d realized her mother hadn’t let her letters to Sy be mailed and destroyed the ones from him, she wanted nothing to do with her, mother or not.
She crossed herself. What a horrible thing to think. Good thing neither he nor Moira could read minds. She walked to the end of the sidewalk and gave the street a once over. No one was in sight. She raised her skirts and stomped up the porch stairs, into the house, and down the hallway to the kitchen. It was time to take a stand. After all, she could be forceful with others, why not Moira? She was the mistress of the house, anyway, wasn’t she?
“Moira? Where are you?” The room was empty. Bertha pulled a loaf of bread from the breadbox and cut off two pieces. After slathering on some butter and sliced tomato, she took a pitcher of milk from the ice box and poured a tall glass. She leaned against the counter and took a bite. A moan escaped from her throat. Oh, heavens. It tasted like being at Mamaw’s. She hadn’t had a tomato sandwich since marrying James. He considered it uncouth—only peasants ate sandwiches or drank milk.
Juice from the tomato ran down her chin. She swiped a napkin from a drawer, wiped it away then tossed the napkin on the counter. In a few short bites, the sandwich was gone. Should she make another? There was still tomato left, but maybe more bread wouldn’t be good. She was searching for a salt to sprinkle on the remaining tomato when someone opened the front door. Footsteps echoed down the hallway then stopped.
Drat. Caught in the act. Ready to throw the tomato into a can filled with scraps for the pigs roaming around the town, she paused. This was her house. She, or at least James, was paying Moira to clean things up. Not that she did a very good job, but the woman was the help, not the mistress. She wiped her hands on a towel and left it and the empty glass of milk on the counter.
Where was the woman? By now she should be in the kitchen chastising Bertha for making a mess. When the housekeeper didn’t appear, Bertha went down the hallway lit by the open front door. She stopped at James’ open office door. Muttering and swearing came from inside the room. She peered around the door frame. “James? Is that you?”
James was at his desk, cramming papers into his satchel. Without answering, he opened a safe behind a picture of George Washington and tossed stacks of money on top of the papers.
Bertha entered the room. “What are you doing?”
He jumped then scowled. “Get out of here, woman, before I do something you’ll regret.” He snapped the satchel closed and shoved her aside as he left the room.
Bertha followed him up the stairs. “I asked you what you’re doing? I want an answer.”
James stopped halfway up the stairs, spun on his heel, and slapped her across the cheek, nearly sending her down the stairs. “It’s none of your damned business what I’m doing. Now leave me alone.”
The slap didn’t hurt as much as previous ones, so she followed him into his bedroom where he pulled another satchel from his closet and tossed it on his bed.
He rolled up a couple of shirts and shoved them in the bag. Socks, underwear, and two pairs of pants followed. “Woman, I told you to leave me alone.”
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“Damn right, I’m leaving.” Spittle flew from his mouth.
“What did you do this time?”
“None of your damn business.” His clothes were followed by his shaving cup and brush and a bottle of the aftershave she hated.
She stood in the doorway as if it would keep him from leaving. “It is if I’m left behind to clean up one of your messes again.”
“If you don’t know, then you can’t get into trouble.” He closed the bag then stopped. “Wait, if you know what’s going on, they can charge you with accessory.” He tapped his bottom lip and squinted his eyes. “I rather like that idea. You’ll be in jail while I’m free.”
His laugh sent shivers down her spine. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” He sat on the edge of the bed, which sagged under his considerable weight. He swept a hand toward a straight-backed chair in the corner of the room. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you a quick story. I need to leave town.”
She remained standing in the doorway. If she sat, he could easily slip out of the room before she got any answers. “No, thank you. I’ll stay where I am.”
“Suit yourself. You always were a self-righteous, ice-cold witch.” He buffed his nails on his suitcoat. “I’m not the upstanding banker everyone thinks I am.”
If she laughed, would he hit her? Did it matter? It sounded like he was leaving anyway. “Oh, really?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “After you left Louisiana, I never would have guessed.”
“Don’t get smart with me.” Sweat slid down his temples. He loosened his tie. “I absconded with some funds, and the authorities have been after me. I thought I was safe out west, but the past has caught up with me.”
It was about time. “I already know that. Remember, I had to lie about where you were.” She raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
James shrugged and stared at his shoes. “Well, no. I’ve been selling bootlegged booze to a few places in town. Besides being illegal, it turns out it had been poisoned by the chit I’d been buying it from. I just heard Thoreson, the guy I’d been working with, has been arrested. He turned on me and squealed like a pig.”
Bertha folded her arms over her chest. She didn’t believe for a minute that was all he’d done. “What about all that money you pulled from your safe downstairs? Where did that come from?”
“Here and there. From fools who thought they could turn a few hundred dollars into millions.” He stood and picked up his satchel. “Well, my dear, it’s time for me to depart. Just remember how well you’ve lived on the money I made for us.”
Bertha shook her head. In the twenty years they’d been married, he’d never figured out she didn’t need nor want anything fancy. She wanted love. She wanted children. She wanted to live on a farm. “You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”
“No.” He gave her a hard glare. “But I’ve been tempted a few times.”
The way he sneered at her he probably meant the times he beat her up. He was worse than she’d realized. “Where are you going?”
“Further west. Maybe Oregon. Hide in the wilderness somewhere where no one can find me.” He slammed her shoulder against the door frame as he swept past her.
She raced down the stairs behind him and slammed into his back at the bottom when he stopped short.
“What do you want?” James’ voice quivered.
The sheriff, King Winson, and Daniel Iverson stood in foyer. The sheriff had his hand on the butt of his gun. “You know why we’re here, Woods.”
James pointed a finger at King. “How dare you come into my house, Winson. What are you trying to pull this time?”
Bertha kept her mouth shut and observed the proceedings. Like King and Daniel, Sheriff Winkman was tall, at least six inches taller than James. She had to give her husband credit for acting like the injured party, but if he thought he could get away from the three men towering over him, he was sadly mistaken.
King shook his head. “I didn’t do anything wrong with purchasing the land, and I’m not trying to pull anything now.”
Ever belligerent and thinking he was always right, James took a step toward King, his hands fisted like he was going to take a swing. “You are such a liar, King Winson.”
“What’s with the bags, Woods?” Except for a twitch in his jaw, King didn’t move a muscle.
Sheriff Winkman stepped between them. “That’s a good question, Woods. Planning on leaving town?”
James puffed out his chest. “Of course not. Why would I be leaving town.” He nodded to Bertha. “My lovely wife is taking a trip. These are her bags.”
So, the ass was going to try to get her involved with his lying. She opened her mouth to speak when James rounded on her.
“Aren’t you, dear?” He took a step closer. “Tell them, Bertha. Tell them you’re going on a trip.”
Bertha shook her head. If having him arrested would get him out of her life, she would lie to the moon and back. But fortunately, she didn’t need to lie. “No, Sheriff. I’m not going on a trip.” She nudged the bag with the money in it with her toe. “These are not my bags, but you may be interested in what’s in them.”
Before anyone could stop him, James punched her in the jaw, sending her flying against the wall. “You witch! You lying, crazy witch.” He stood over her, bringing back a leg to kick her.
She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain she knew was coming. But before he could, King grabbed James by his back collar and tossed him into the opposite hall. Daniel helped her stand, and with her weight, it was a no small task. She rubbed her jaw. For the first time she’d have a bruise for all to see. Not that she planned on anyone seeing her.
“Did you see that, Sheriff. Did you see how King attacked me?” James crab-walked away from King, who reached down to yank him to his feet. “I want him arrested.”
The sheriff chuckled. “You want me to arrest King? You’re kidding, right?” He grabbed James’ arm and pulled him up. “I’m afraid you’re the one being arrested.”
James widened his eyes and huffed a breath. “What for? I didn’t do nothing wrong.” His voice came out like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. Tears pooled in his eyes when the sheriff cuffed him. “Honest, I didn’t do nothing.” He glared at Bertha. “It’s all her. She’s the one who stole all that money and sold bootlegged booze.”
In all the years married to him, and with all the beatings and name calling, she never been as angry as she was now. Anger so powerful, she wanted to scream. She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes. She stood in front of her husband. “You . . . You . . .” She couldn’t think of a word bad enough to call him. Before she did something she’d never done in her life and punched him, she turned her back on him and faced the sheriff. “He’s lying.”
King chuckled. “No kidding. You expect us to believe your wife did all those things when we know for a fact she never leaves the house unless she’s with you? Can’t you come up with a better story than that?”
Daniel shook his head. “Besides, Woods, we were watching through your window when you took the money from your safe. We also checked your office at the bank where we found some deeds to local property you don’t actually own.”
“And don’t forget,” the sheriff added, “Thoreson has been telling some interesting stories about you. Plus,” he pulled a sheaf of papers from his inside coat pocket. “We have several arrest warrants from cities in the south where you worked your scams.”
“What about my wife?”
“What about her?” King tugged on James’ arm. “From the punch you gave her, I’d say she’ll be better off without you.”
As the sheriff and King hauled James from the house, he dug in his heels and glared at her over his shoulder. “This isn’t over. I’ll see you dead before you get your hands on my money.”
When the sound of his protests petered out, Bertha released a breath then realized Daniel was still in the foyer. “Why are you still here?” She cringed inwardly at the vile way the words came from her mouth.
“I want to make sure you’re all right.” He nodded at her cheek. “You’re going to have a nasty bruise.”
She huffed a breath. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She went into James’ office and, knowing he couldn’t do anything from behind bars, sat behind his desk.
With his hands shoved in his pockets, Daniel leaned against the doorjamb. “What’re you going to do now?”
She grasped the edge of the desk and eyed the mess of papers he’d left behind. That was a good question. “I really don’t know.”
“Well, I’m a lawyer, so if you need any advice, please let me know.” He tipped his hat. “I’ll be taking my leave now.”
“Wait. What will happen to the money in the satchel?” She didn’t want to let him know she was basically destitute but needed to know if she could use any of it.
Daniel frowned and his eyes held sympathy as if he understood her situation. “I’m sorry. I have to take it to the sheriff for evidence.”
Not that she cared, but she needed to ask. “What will happen to James?”
“He’ll be held in our jail until a judge can come and sentence him. He’ll probably then be sent to a prison somewhere.”
Saying alleluia probably wouldn’t look or sound good, so she simply said, “Oh.”
“Anything else?”
Bertha shook her head. “No.”
When Daniel left the room and she heard the front door close, she folded her arms on the desktop and rested her head on them. Now what? She raised her head and eyed the expensive furnishings in the room. Could she sell them for money to head back home? But what was waiting for her in Minnesota? Like here, nothing. Would she be able to sell the house? Embarrassed that she had no idea of the legalities of her situation, she let a tear roll down her cheek.
Despite James’ obvious hatred of both King and Daniel, they seemed like kind men. She’d have to swallow her pride and talk with Daniel about her options. And no matter the stigma it would give her, she knew for certain she was going to divorce James Woodard Woods.
****
She didn’t know how long she sat at his desk staring into space, contemplating the last twenty years of her life. In her mind, twenty wasted years. No children. No money. And probably, no home. To make matters worse, no friends anywhere.
“Ahem.”
Bertha looked up from the paper she’d been mindlessly staring at. “Moira. What can I do for you?”
Moira stepped into the room and slapped her hands at her waist. “Just what would you be doing in Mr. Woods’ office? You know it’s off limits to you.” She pointed out the door. “And who gave you permission to make a mess in my kitchen?”
Bertha stared at the old lady and something inside her snapped. Something she’d been holding back for years. Anger, fear, frustration, loneliness. Whatever it was, she was done with being told what to do and when to do it. She rose from the chair and pressed her palms on the desktop.
“Just who do you think you’re talking to, Moira?”
“Why, I be talking to you, Mrs. Woods.” She raised her chin and from her short height, seemed to look down at Bertha. “Wait until I tell Mr. Woods where you’ve been.”
Bertha narrowed her eyes. “Well, you can march right down to the jail and tell him. I’m sure he’ll be real interested, seeing as how he’s been arrested.”
“Arrested?” Moira widened her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed like a floundering fish. “Arrested? Whatever for? Why, he’s one of the kindest men I’ve ever met.” She squinted and jabbed a finger at Bertha. “What did you do to get him in trouble?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Bertha sighed. “Whatever trouble he got himself into, he did himself. And whatever he did is none of your business.”
“Well, I never. He always said you were a cold-hearted woman. I can’t work for someone who doesn’t care what happens to her husband. A man who worked and slaved to make a good life for his wife. I have half a mind to quit.”
“Don’t bother. You’re fired.”
“You didn’t hire me, so you can’t fire me.”
Bertha held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Oh, yes I can. Hand over your keys.”
For a few seconds, Moira didn’t say anything, simply glared at Bertha.
“Now. And be warned. I’ll make sure every key is returned.”
Moira sighed and handed over the keys. “You’ll be sorry about this.”
“I doubt it. Now gather your things and leave.”
Moira stomped from the room and up the stairs. Bertha rounded the desk and followed. Even though she had the keys, it might be a good idea to see what the ex-housekeeper might do. She peered around the open door of the woman’s bedroom where Moira shoved clothes into a carpetbag. From what she could tell, other than money from a nightstand drawer that Bertha assumed was her pay, she hadn’t taken anything that wasn’t hers.
When Moira crossed her room to the bedroom door, Bertha scurried across the hall into her room. When she knew Moira was downstairs, she followed and peered around the kitchen door. The woman took another carpetbag from the pantry and wrapped jars of canned beans, peas, carrots, pears, and peaches in towels and put them in the bag. Next, she added a ham, and bacon. The last thing she did was pull a chair up to a tall cupboard, remove a metal coffee container and set it on the table.
The can had to contain something heavy as it clunked and jingled against the wooden table. After removing a piece of cloth, she opened a reticule, scooped up a handful of silver dollars, and dropped them into the small bag. After another handful, Bertha needed to step in.
She stepped into the room, stopped at the table, and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Moira jumped and dropped a coin back into the can. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? You call stealing, nothing?”
“I weren’t stealin’.”
Bertha laughed. “Really? What do you call taking food from the pantry and putting it in your bag then putting money in your reticule? Looks like stealing to me.”
“This here money is mine. It’s what Mr. Woods paid me.”
“Then where did the money you took from your bedroom come from?” Bertha picked up the reticule, surprised at how heavy it was. There was probably fifty dollars in it. “If being a housekeeper paid this well, I should get a job as one.”
Moira sniffed then shook her head. “There’s no way a lazy person like you would ever be a housekeeper, or cook, or anything else.”
“You’d be surprised, Moira.” Bertha tossed the small bag from hand to hand. “Now, if you don’t tell me where this came from, I’m going to march you down to the jail and ask James how much he actually paid you. Then you can explain where you came by so much money.”
“No. No. Please don’t do that.” Moira held out her hands. “I’ve been stealing it from Mr. Woods.”
“How?”
“When Mr. Woods came home at night, he’d empty his pockets on his dresser.” With the back of her hand, Moira wiped away tears running down her cheeks. “Every morning when I made up his room, I took one or two of his coins. There were so many, I knew he wouldn’t notice. He barely paid me nothin’, so I figured he owed me. Ya know?”
Unfortunately, Bertha did know. With all the work she had done over the years, she probably received less money than Moira, especially since she didn’t get paid at all and had to account for every penny she spent on travel and food. She was given an allowance for her clothes, but again, had to account for what she paid for her larger and larger wardrobe.
“That accounts for the coins, but what about the cash? I saw you take a stack of bills from your dresser. More than you could possibly have been paid.”
Moira dropped onto a chair and ran a finger over one of the coins. “One night I watched him open his safe and remembered the combination.”
“How did you get into the room? He always kept it locked.”
“Um . . .” In a flash, the coin disappeared.
“Spit it out, Moira.” Bertha pointed to where the coin had been. “And put that dollar coin back on the table.”
Moira sighed and shook it out from her sleeve. “You have a good eye, you do.”
“And don’t forget it.” Bertha frowned. “I’m going to count to three and if you don’t explain yourself, I’ll take you down to the jail. By the hair if I have to.”
“In my younger days, I was part of a traveling circus. It weren’t on the up and up. We were trained by the manager to pick pockets, pick locks, and pick which men and women to steal from. It weren’t nothin’ to unlock Mr. Woods’ door.”
“All right, Moira.” Bertha took a chair across from the housekeeper. “I believe you. Now here’s what we’re going to do.”
Moira sat up straight and smiled as if Bertha was going to go easy on her. “What?”
“You’ll put back the food you stole and give me the money in your satchel. In return, I’ll give you . . .” She tapped her lip and thought a few seconds. How much money would the woman need to leave town? There were a lot of coins, but how many? Would there be enough for them both to leave Deadwood? Should she even keep the money or give it all to the sheriff? “. . . twenty-five dollars.”
“Twenty-five dollars?” Moira slapped her hand on the table and laughed. “Why, that’s a pittance of what is here.”
“But, my dear Moira, how much of that money is yours? I could have easily made it ten dollars.” She tapped a finger on a coin. “Or, I could give you nothing. Since you’ve been stealing, and who knows what else you’ve taken, I’m not obligated to give you a thing.” She drew the coin container to her and made sure none were on the table where Moira could make them disappear up her sleeve again. Bertha shrugged. “Take it or leave it. It’s up to you.” She rose, pulled open Moira’s clothing bag, and removed the cash stuffed in it.
“Hey, you can’t take that, too.”
“I can, and I will.”
Moira narrowed her eyes and tapped a finger on the table. “And what are you goin’ to do with it?” She huffed a breath. “Keepin’ it for yourself, I’m thinkin’.”
Bertha shrugged. “That would be none of your business.” Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to keep the cash since it was probably stolen. She’d take it to Daniel Iverson and see what he thought.
“What about the coins?”
What about the coins? She had no money of her own. Having worked her tail off for James with no pay, and now with him locked up and probably going to prison, she’d have no funds whatsoever. “That, too, is none of your business.”
“You know, I could go to the sheriff, too, and tell him you have stolen money.”
Bertha shook her head. “Do you know for a fact that Mr. Woods stole the coins you took from him? You said they came from his emptying his pockets. They could easily have been change from purchases.”
“Or more than likely sleepin’ with his whores.”
Now, why didn’t that surprise her? She knew he had to have been getting his release from somewhere when he was gone. Why couldn’t he have taken a mistress instead of going to one of those women? Women of loose morals. Women who did who-knew-what with men of all kinds. No matter how broke she might be, she’d never lower herself to become a prostitute. She saw them on the balconies of the taverns in what James had referred to as The Badlands. How many of those women had he visited?
“No, matter.” She counted out twenty-five, one-dollar coins and pushed them across the table to Moira. “Now, take the money and leave. If I see you anywhere near me or this house,” she nodded to the crank-phone on the wall, “I’ll contact the sheriff.” She’d seen one before but wasn’t sure how to use it. Moira didn’t need to know that.
Moira huffed, stood, and scooped the coins into her apron pocket. She put her hand on the bag with the food.
“Uh, uh.” Bertha waggled at finger at Moira. “The food stays here.” She pushed Moira’s clothing satchel across the table. “Now get out of here, and don’t let me see you around this house again. If I do, not only will I contact the sheriff, but I’ll make sure it’s known in Deadwood you’re a thief. No one will ever hire you again.”
“And you’ll never be welcomed in this town.” Moira looked her up and down and sniffed. “Hoity-toity people like you will never have friends.” She picked up her bag and, with the coins jingling in her pocket, left the house.
“Good riddance.” Bertha locked the kitchen door and, to be on the safe side, propped the back of a chair beneath the door handle, something she learned to do in the lousy hotels she’d stayed at over the years. She hauled another chair down the hallway and did the same with the front door. Tomorrow she’d venture out to see the lawyer and find a locksmith to change the locks. She didn’t trust the housekeeper not to have another set of keys. But how could she keep Moira from picking the new locks when she was out of the house?
Ignoring James’ office, she went into her sitting room and took out her knitting from its hiding place. Before sitting in her chair, she opened the window, letting in a fresh breeze and the birds’ songs. At least now she wouldn’t have to hide her knitting. She smiled to herself. Why, she could leave her yarn strewn in every room of the house if she wanted and no one could say a word. She was in charge now.
The birds singing outside the window did nothing to banish her despair. Even during all the times she’d been alone, she always knew there were other people around her and eventually she’d be back with James. Now she was alone. Totally and utterly alone. No family. No friends. And the way she’d treated people the past few months, it was unlikely she’d have any, not to mention the people who James had cheated who would probably hate her simply because she was married to him.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She was nothing more than a sour, frustrated, nasty old woman. She may only be thirty-six, but inside, her heart was old. Bertha lay her knitting in her lap and rested her head against the back of the chair. If she were a violent woman, she’d march right down to the jail and punch James in the nose first then his bulging stomach.