A Good Woman

A Woman Surviving in the Old West

The “Tales From Wyoming” are a collection of interconnected short stories of the Pioneers and the Old West. Each story combines some fiction with some legend with a liberal dose of real history. The stories are standalone adventures.

This adventure begins where Morgan Meets Abigail left off. Check out the entire collection here:

Life in 1884 Wyoming Territory was a constant struggle to survive. Following the sudden death of her husband, Abigail Thorne was forced to face this harsh reality. There were few choices for a single woman to make a living in South Pass City. Fortunately, Morgan Sandburg was there for her.

Abigail watched Morgan mount his horse and ride off into the dusty afternoon. She was glad he had said he was coming back.

“Bye-bye,” her toddler son Ben said as he waved.

Alas, Morgan did not look back.

Abigail chuckled. Morgan had not understood a word the two-year-old had said, but he would have understood these words. Ben had been so at ease playing with Morgan. Abigail had been surprised, and pleased, when Morgan gave his attention to the boy; there was no actual reason for it.

As Morgan turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared, Abigail’s core was suddenly drained. Feeling empty, she silently wondered, What comes next? She could not think of what to do after burying her husband. A slight tug on her hand brought her attention back to Ben. He was now her purpose in life.

She glanced around to see who had observed her last exchange with Morgan; their parting touch. Perhaps someone had heard their farewell words. She wondered if anyone suspected he had spent the night in her cabin.

To the left, Marge stood, watching from the walkway in front of the abandoned hotel. Across the street, the sheriff sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the jailhouse. He was puffing on a cigar but his focus was on her. Behind Abigail, Sam and Shirley Potter, her employers, waited. Three men stood along the corral fence; she had no idea who they were. Two doors down from the jail, two women walked hastily past the saloon; they were the only ones on the street not looking at her.

Abigail turned to Sam. “Mr. Potter, give me a few minutes to change my clothes, and I’ll be at work.”

Mrs. Potter responded for her husband, “There’s no need dear. Take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I need to work to keep from going insane.” Abigail did not add that she was desperate for the meager pay her job at the General Store earned.

Morgan had given her a wad of cash and a handful of gold nuggets. Upon seeing the money, her first thought was to buy a ticket to Omaha, but after hearing Morgan’s final words, she was not certain Omaha was the future she wanted. Nonetheless, she needed a steady income for her and Ben to survive.

Marge appeared at her elbow. “I understand your need to distract your mind. Here, let me help you change clothes. You won’t be able to sit in that dress. With all the pins, you’ll get stabbed.” Marge picked up Ben.

“Thank you.” Abigail allowed Marge’s hand on her elbow to guide her to the alley and her cabin.

Ben sat on the cabin floor, playing with his toys, while Marge carefully removed the pins which had held the excess fabric of the oversized mourning gown.

Abigail involuntarily chuckled.

Marge asked, “What’s funny?”

“Hmm, not really funny. I was thinking that Mother Nature might choose this time to give me a second child. I was thinking I might need to keep the black gown so everyone would know I was a widow.” She had discussed her desire to have more children with Marge several times. Before, a second pregnancy had been her wish, now it would be a curse.

“Indeed, Mother Nature is well known for her cruel pranks. How long has it been? You know, since…”

“Three days,” Abigail answered, understanding Marge was asking when the last time she had lain with Ezra had been. Of course, what was really on her mind was the night she had spent with Morgan. There was not much of a chance the single encounter would produce a child, but Mother Nature was fickle. She and Ezra had done the marriage deed several dozen times before she became pregnant with Ben. Since the baby had been born, they had done it a hundred more times, and she had not gotten pregnant.

“Well, there’s no sense worrying about it. When you next bleed, we’ll know for sure.” Marge was the blacksmith’s wife. She was several years older than Abigail, and had been married for five years. But, she had three children during those five years while Abigail had spawned only one in her three years of marriage.

Abigail knew what Marge had really meant, If I don’t bleed, then we’ll know. She hung the dress and brushed the dust from the hem. To reflect she was still mourning for the loss of her husband, Abigail selected a brown skirt and a dark blue blouse. She left her nightshirt and black stockings as her undergarments. Marge helped to arrange her hair.

“There, you look very nice,” Marge said. “Would you like me to take care of Ben? I could give him lunch and keep him this afternoon. One thing you will not have to worry about today.”

“Yes, thank you. He always enjoys playing with your boys.” Mrs. Potter usually watched after Ben in the back room of the General Store.

Abigail folded the black dress over her arm. She closed the door to the cabin as they left. And then she paused.

“Is something amiss?” Marge asked.

“No, it just seems my head is not always on my shoulders today.” What had really been on Abigail’s mind was the sudden recollection that the money and gold nuggets were in her underwear drawer. While a bolt could be closed to secure the door from the inside, there was no way to lock the door from the outside. Previously, she had never owned anything worth stealing, but now she was worried a thief would find her stash of money. She trusted Marge with the life of her child, thus also with her money. However, she didn’t want to draw attention to the money by re-entering the cabin and moving it to a more secluded location. Besides, at the moment she could not think of an appropriate hiding place.

She released her hold on the door handle and walked along the street toward the General Store. At the shop’s backdoor, she kissed Ben and bid farewell to Marge.

Inside, she handed Shirley the mourning dress. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter.”

“I’m glad you could use it, dear.” Shirley Potter was sitting in her rocking chair reading which was what she always did. Most days, Abigail left Ben in the back room and Shirley watched over him. She would call to Abigail if the boy required any attention.

Abigail donned a white apron. “Well, I best get on with work.”

“Mrs. Thorne,” Shirley said, stopping her. “Abigail, I know it’s not my place to pry, but I do think of you as a daughter. I’m sure you haven’t had much time to think about the future, but have you given any thoughts as to what you might do now?”

Abigail studied the older woman’s face. The question shocked her. Not so much the question itself, but the poor timing Mrs. Potter had chosen. “Why, uh, no.”

Of course, she had considered taking the stagecoach to Rock Springs, and the train east to Omaha. While she wanted to save the money Morgan had given her for this plan, she had for the time being decided to stay in South Pass City. However, Mrs. Potter’s question must have an ulterior meaning.

“You are, of course, welcome to stay on with us… as long as we keep the store open.”

Ah, that’s what she means. Abigail had observed a slow, steady decline in the number of customers in the store. As with the entire town, the store was slowly dying. One day, the store would certainly close.

“What I mean is, well, you see we are getting on in years. Sam thinks it might be time to sell the store for whatever price it might bring. And then, we would move to Cheyenne where our eldest son lives.”

Abigail knew the couple had operated the General Store since the heyday of the gold mining. It had been quite prosperous and their son was an educated lawyer working for the Territorial Governor. She presumed they had a comfortable nest egg saved. They had no need to ride the store into bankruptcy. Likewise, there was probably no one who would buy it. Like all the other failed businesses in South Pass City, it would simply close. She would be out of a job.

Abigail drew a breath. Misfortune was piling upon misfortune. “I do understand. When the day comes that you and Mr. Potter no longer require my service, I will be disappointed, but I will find a way.” She turned away and entered the main room of the store. There were several patrons and she immediately began assisting them. Sam liked to handle the exchange of money himself; thus, her primary task was retrieving the goods the customers requested.

As she silently worked, she thought about being abandoned by the Potters. In her mind, she had been doing them a favor when Shirley became an invalid. From her perspective, Ezra provided for his family and the money she earned was for their savings. However, seeing things from a clearer viewpoint, she realized Ezra provided the bare minimum. Only a hugely lucky gold strike would have provided the funds necessary to move the family back East. What she earned had always gone towards their bare necessities; there were no savings.

When the workday was done, Abigail went to the blacksmith shop. Ben and the two other boys were playing and she didn’t disturb them Marge’s eldest, a daughter, was watching them while working in her schoolbook.

“Thank you for watching over Ben,” Abigail said to Marge. “I see that he has had a grand time.”

“You are most welcome,” Marge answered. “Won’t you please stay for dinner? Arthur traded some new wagon wheels for a side of beef. We’ll have to eat it quickly, before it spoils.”

“Thank you, very much.” Abigail didn’t know if this was the complete truth, but she was grateful for the free meal. There was nothing but bare cupboards in her cabin.

After dinner the two women cleaned up. Abigail told her friend about Mrs. Potter’s bad news.

“Goodness, you say Mr. Potter didn’t have the nerve to tell you himself?”

Abigail answered, “I can’t blame him. There is no immediate plan to close the shop. Mrs. Potter was being rather motherly in warning me… warning me to address the future in a serious manner.”

“So, will you go back to your father in Omaha?”

“That was my first thought.” Abigail sighed. “But, we departed on rather poor standing. I’m not sure he would accept me back. You see, I didn’t tell you about this before, but he kicked me out of the house.” She had previously told Marge about the death of her mother and how she and her sister assumed the household duties. “That is, I was an unnecessary mouth to feed. When his business failed, he — for all practical purposes — sold me to Ezra. My father decided he had no choice but to keep my younger sister, and she could manage the house alone. So you see, he would not welcome me and Ben on his doorstep.”

Abigail’s grandfather had been a carpenter in Germany, just like his father. With the economic downturn in the Old World, her grandfather immigrated to America in 1840. Abigail’s father had been born in Vermont in 1845, but he had grown up in Springfield, Illinois. With a booming business in wagons for travelers on the Oregon Trail, the family moved to Council Bluffs, Iowa, in 1855. Council Bluffs was where the explorers Lewis and Clark had first met with the Ote Indian tribe in 1804. A settlement of one sort or another had existed in the area since then. On the eastern side of the Missouri River, the town of Kanesville had originally been settled by the Mormons, but by 1855 they had migrated westward across the Missouri. The town then became known as Council Bluffs. Abigail had been born in 1864 and her father assumed the family carpentry business just as the Transcontinental Railroad began operation. The number of pioneers using the Oregon Trail, and the family carpentry business, plummeted. The railroad ended the protection of the Indian Territory on the western side of the Missouri River, and Abigail’s family moved to what had been a trading post known as Bellevue, but was now called Omaha, Nebraska. Omaha grew rapidly, and the family prospered for many years until Abigail’s mother died of fever.

“Sold you!” Marge questioned.

“Yes, he placed an advertisement in the newspaper for a mail order bride. As it happened, Ezra was passing through town on railroad business. He came to the house and we met. He came back a week later and sealed the deal with my father. So, you see…” Abigail could not think of the words to finish the thought. Her father had labeled Ezra to be a “fine catch” and implored her to not let him get away.

Marge hugged her friend. “Not to pile worries upon you — you do appear to have some time to decide upon a plan — but, there are very few ways a lone woman can survive out here.”

Abigail was under no illusion about what Marge meant. In the West, women were married to men who provided for their families; a woman’s work was to maintain the home. The majority of unmarried women in the towns within the western states and territories were employed in the numerous bordellos. This was not something she wanted to do. She had only been with two men in her life — three years with Ezra and one night with Morgan. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to service half-dozen different men each night.

However, she had to find a way to provide for Ben, no matter what.

“I could be a school teacher. Most of those are unmarried.” Abigail knew this was a pipe-dream; she had no formal education herself. How could she possibly teach children?

“Yes, and there are a few women who manage their own shops,” Marge encouraged. “Is there a chance you could buy the General Store from the Potters?”

Abigail shook her head; she had insufficient money to buy a business.

“Or, I could do as my father did. I could place an advisement for myself as a mail order bride. There are lots of men in California and Nevada seeking wives. Of course, I would have to mention Ben, but some men might find a made-to-order family acceptable.”

“Hmm… What about that man? Ezra’s friend? He is rather pleasing on the eyes.”

“Mr. Sandburg? He was not exactly Ezra’s friend.” Sam had been the only other person in the room when Morgan had told Abigail the tale of how he had found Ezra, and how Ezra had died. She was certain Sam had retold the story to at least Shirley. Mrs. Potter would have told many others. The truth of Ezra’s death would have been contorted with every retelling; thus, Abigail didn’t know how much Marge knew. At the very least, she hoped Sam had not included the fact Ezra had accidentally shot himself in the leg. This was unnecessarily humiliating.

However, Morgan was also on her mind. She wanted to discuss her situation with him before making any other decision. She prayed he was serious when he said he would return to see how she was getting along.

Abigail continued, “It was Mr. Sandburg’s employer, Mr. Emil Granier, who paid the men to recover Ezra’s body. It could be that Ezra was also working for Mr. Granier.” She knew this was not the case, but it made for a reasonable explanation. “Mr. Sandburg said he would return and check on me. I’ll ask him when he returns.” There, I’ve planted the seed. Abigail had created the rational for Morgan to call upon her. “Ezra had some success searching for gold. Mr. Sandburg gave me several nuggets which Ezra had found.” This was a second seed planted. Marge knew she had no more than two nickels to rub together. When Abigail spent some of the money Morgan had given her, Marge would believe it came from Ezra.

The children returned from playing and Abigail took Ben outside. Marge followed a few steps.

“Abigail,” Marge whispered, “what I mean to say by all this, is that they don’t do things in the West like they do back East. There’s no expectation you will mourn Ezra for a year. Life here is just too hard for unmarried women. Everyone will expect you to remarry as soon as possible.”

Abigail nodded. She had already tumbled to this conclusion.

In the twilight, Abigail and Ben walked to their cabin through the deserted streets of South Pass City. After putting Ben to bed, she pulled up a loose board and hid the money and gold in a more secure location. Then she sat staring at the wavering shadows caused by the flickering candlelight. She thought about Morgan. She had no regrets about what they had done, but she reasoned they could not lay together again. At least, she could not make love with him until they were married, if that was God’s plan.

Morgan had said he would return soon, but she had no idea what time frame he might consider to be ‘soon’. She could go to Atlantic City and seek him out. She would have little chance of finding him in the city of 2000 people. But, she could find the office of Mr. Emil Granier. She could seek him out under the pretense of personally thanking him for the money. Then, she could inquire about Morgan Sandburg.

With a plan in mind, she undressed and curled up in her own bed, alone.

✽✽✽

Each idle hour of the next three days, Abigail thought about Morgan. She kept her eyes on the street, looking for the arrival of a dusty stranger who would turn out to be Morgan. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision of his face appeared in her thoughts. After three days, she decided he was not coming back soon enough. After Ben was asleep, she reflected on the events of the day and decided she should take matters into her own hands. She would go to Atlantic City and look for him.

She had spent the two hours walking to the nearby metropolis twice before; it would be no formidable task. She already had a plan for finding Morgan. However, she decided to leave Ben in South Pass with Marge.

She smiled with the sudden realization that she had Ezra’s horse. She was not an accomplished rider, but she knew how to do it. With the horse, it would take little more than an hour to make the trip.

In the morning, she made the preparations for the short journey to Atlantic City.

“I’m going to Atlantic City. Mr. Sandburg has not come to check on me, as he promised. I hope to find him,” she told Marge, when she dropped Ben off.

“Ah, yes, let’s do what women do best.” Marge smiled. “It’s the best thing for you to do. Make sure he remembers you, and then see what happens.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back before dark,” Abigail said. If something delayed her return, she knew Marge would take good care of the boy.

Then, at the General Story, she asked Sam, “Mr. Potter, may I please have the day off. You see, I want to go to Atlantic City and confer with Mr. Emil Granier. I simply must thank him for seeing to the return of Ezra’s body.”

“Of course, Mrs. Thorne. Are you planning to take the trip by yourself?”

“Yes, it should be no trouble. I have Ezra’s horse, you know.”

While she saw no one else traveling in the direction of Atlantic City, two wagons passed her going the opposite direction. The men in these wagons eyed her as a novelty — a woman traveling alone. She was concerned she might befall victim to a highwayman, or a road agent as the locals called bandits, but the men all courteously tipped their hats.

Once in Atlantic City, she followed the main roads towards the center of town. At a hotel, she tied her horse to the rail and entered.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said to the clerk. “Can you help me find the office of Mr. Emil Granier?”

“The Frenchie, sure. It’s only a short ways.” The clerk provided directions.

Leaving her horse within reach of a water trough, she walked the remaining distance.

Entering the office, she inquired, “Sir, I am Mrs. Abigail Thorne. May I have a few words with Mr. Emil Granier?”

The short, stout man looked up from his papers. He stood. “Ma’am, I regret Mr. Granier is not available. I am his foreman, Carl Porter. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Mr. Porter, I am pleased to meet you, but my business is of a personal nature.” Abigail swallowed, and then continued, “Perhaps, you are familiar with the death of my husband, Ezra Thorne, and the efforts of Mr. Morgan Sandburg?”

Carl thought for a moment, and said, “Indeed, I recall. Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Thorne. It was a most unfortunate accident.”

“Thank you, sir. My business with Mr. Granier is to personally thank him for assisting us in this time of need.”

“It is unfortunate that he is not here. He is back East meeting with investors, but I will certainly pass along your thanks. I’m sure he will be pleased to hear from you. Are you doing all right?”

“Thank you for asking, Mr. Porter. I’m doing the best as could be expected. And, along this line, is Mr. Morgan Sandburg available? I would like to thank him as well. He brought the, uh, body — ”

“Yes, ma’am, I know what he did. Mr. Sandburg is attending some business at our mine facility right now. I expect him back in an hour or two. If you would care to return, or better yet, if you could tell me where you are staying, then I could direct him to you.”

“Well, I’m not staying in town, but I will wait in the Palace Hotel lobby. Please tell him to find me there. Thank you, so much.”

Abigail returned to the hotel. After drawing a glass of water, she sat on a bench in the lobby.

This romance between Morgan and Abigail continues in Pioneer Woman Plots Her Survival

Copyright ©2023 by S. M. Revolinski All Rights Reserved

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