Family Sand
by Gary Clifton
part 1
“Fine sermon this morning, Reverend Bushworthington,” Brannigan said while his wife, Elizabeth, and their ten-year old son, Tad, filed past, shaking the pastor’s hand. The Reverend had just delivered one of his “hellfire and brimstone” masterpieces to the congregation.
The line slowly snaked along. Bushworthington, balding, sixty, with a seventy-inch girth, held on to Elizabeth’s hand a second longer than proper decorum dictated.
At 35, Elizabeth Brannigan was still the most beautiful woman in the dusty, slowly growing town of Uvalde. Even a hint of crow’s feet around her eyes due to the natural progression of age was no detraction. She had been elected President of the Uvalde County Commissioner’s Court and become a tenacious statesperson for women’s rights, which was a growing movement in the year 1882.
“Thank you, Reverend.” She smiled sweetly, slid her hand free, and accompanied her family to the shade of a large black oak, where their carriage was parked. Charlie, Brannigan’s long-time faithful assistant, pet, savior, and senior advisor — the fourth member of their family — was stretched to his full great length under the buggy.
Charlie struggled to his feet, circled to the back of the buggy, and gathered to attempt the spring into the rear as he had for nearly 13 years. Despite a demanding, rough-and-tumble life, Charlie had lived well beyond the normal life expectancy of a dog so large. Brannigan had speculated that Charlie must be a hundred years old in canine time. He was now rarely able to follow when Brannigan rode horseback.
Brannigan reached down and added enough boost to ensure Charlie hit his mark. Charlie had done him far larger favors countless times. The lack of mobility and the white hair forming around his mouth told an eternal story.
“Henry Paul, Elizabeth, Tad,” City Marshal and blacksmith Bill “Bear” Smith greeted as he approached, accompanied by his wife Mary and their two-year old daughter. He reached into the buggy and gave Charlie a friendly pat.
“Y’all are still coming by for dinner today?” Bear, as husky as his nickname implied, had added to his wardrobe by purchase of a new derby from the Sears and Roebuck Catalogue. He still wore his older, hopelessly soiled version to work daily at his blacksmith shop or to perform duties as city marshal.
“Of course.” Brannigan grinned. “Hope you cooked enough to fill my big carcass. Mary?”
“Certainly, Henry Paul, and a generous portion for Charlie.”
“I’m hungry, too, Miss Mary,” Tad added as he sprang into the boot of the buggy beside Charlie.
* * *
Later, over cleanup, the men were sitting on the porch of the small Smith house behind the blacksmith shop. Mary leaned close to Elizabeth and said, “Have you told Henry Paul you and I are taking the train to Austin to keep our next appointment with Governor Roberts in two weeks?”
Liz smiled. “No, have you said anything to Bear?”
“I was waiting for you, first. Bear doesn’t take women’s rights seriously.”
“He’s angry?”
“Oh, no. He just doesn’t see women as politically significant.”
“Well, Mary, neither does Henry Paul Brannigan, but I’ll straighten him out when the time comes. I’ve already purchased the tickets. The San Antonio Daily Express says Governor Orin Milo Roberts is big on state’s rights. We’ll tell his Democrat majesty we’re in the process of organizing women’s rights. If he disapproves, we’ll move forward anyway. We’ve been carrying the torch for over five years. It’s time to take some real action.”
“He should be impressed somewhat by the fact you’re the duly elected chairwoman of the Uvalde County Commissioner’s Court.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Hard telling. You know men. If we can get you elected mayor of the city of Uvalde this fall, we’ll have more ammunition.”
Mary smiled and spoke in a slightly louder voice. “I think the new preacher has his eye on you, Liz. You makin’ plans to leave your husband anytime soon?” They both giggled.
Liz said, “The preacher is certainly irresistible.” More giggles followed. “He means no harm. He’s from Philadelphia. I went to college there, years ago. In fact, you know my sister still lives up east. Lots of Reverend Bushworthingtons are floating around in this world.”
“Don’t forget, my husband is from New York City. That’s why he talks funny. You’re not suggesting your sister couldn’t do better than ol’ icy-fingers Bushworthington?”
Liz roared with laughter. “No, you already know Susan’s happily married to a rich banker.”
“Yes, I remember.” Mary dried a plate. “How on earth did the Bushworthingtons end up here? This place must seem like purgatory to them.”
Liz whispered a decibel lower. “Henry Paul said he heard they were exiled out here, because he laid hands on the bustle of the wife of a church alderman. But that’s a secret.”
“My lips are buttoned, Liz. Funny thing, Mrs. Bushworthington seems to have a bead on both our husbands. I feel threatened.” Both burst out laughing.
Mary stifled her laughter. “She’s as skinny as he is fat.”
Brannigan said through the screen door, “Ladies, if you’ll curtail the social hour, it’s a nice afternoon for a carriage ride. We’re all hitched up and ready to go.”
As Brannigan resumed his front porch rocker, Mary whispered to Liz. “Mrs. Bushworthington has a dog bigger than Charlie. Must weigh a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Well, no danger of her dog — I believe it’s called a Newfoundland — being a threat to Charlie. She’s a female. Very friendly and docile. Wonder how they got her down here. Cattle car?”
Mary shrugged. “Now they have her penned up in the back yard of the parsonage. Looks like she could lean on the fence and run off.”
“Mary, not sure how that big, northern-breed dog is going to handle Texas summer heat.”
“Maybe old Reverend Sticky Fingers will lay hands on another bustle and they’ll get sentenced to a northern climate.”
“Mary, good heavens!” Elizabeth laughed again.
Brannigan’s bay, Buck, still hitched to the four-seat buggy, was reined to a live oak tree in the yard. When the company was readying to leave, Charlie limped up. Bear lifted him next to Tad on the back boot of the buggy.
The two couples, their two children, and Charlie spent the afternoon enjoying a leisurely carriage ride east of Uvalde along a rough but beautiful road bordered with live oak. Brannigan dropped off the Smiths late in the day and drove the horse and buggy to the Brannigan ranch in the cool evening weather of early autumn 1882.
* * *
The next day, Brannigan rode Buck the six miles to Uvalde. About halfway through the trip, he realized Charlie, limping but game, had followed him. “Buck, we’re probably gonna have to borrow a buggy from the livery barn to haul Charlie home this evening.”
It never occurred to Brannigan that Charlie might know about something in town that Brannigan didn’t know. Charlie was ancient, but his sense of smell and libido still functioned. Brannigan unsaddled Buck at the livery stable and went to his small office in the courthouse basement. Charlie stretched out beneath a broad tree on the courthouse lawn.
At 7:15 A.M., just as Brannigan had gotten the coffeepot fired up, Bear Smith dropped by for a friendly cup.
Suddenly, the quiet calm of the Uvalde Courthouse was shattered when Mrs. Bushworthington was heard screaming outside. Brannigan and Bear sprang to their feet and met her halfway up the basement stair.
“Rape!” she shrieked from the middle of Main Street. Then she repeated the word several times, quickly attracting a crowd.
Brannigan asked, “Who, where?”
“Beulah. She’s been violated right in my own domicile, sir. I demand you shoot the offender immediately.”
Brannigan asked, “Ma’am, who is Beulah?”
“Only my very, very expensive, prize purebred Newfoundland. We paid nine dollars for that animal in Philadelphia, and now she’s been violated... ruined... worthless.”
“Violated? By whom?”
“That useless mongrel you call a dog. He climbed my backyard fence. I caught him just after he’d done his sordid deed and was climbing back over the fence.”
Brannigan and Bear exchanged glances, both struggling to keep straight faces while standing in a crowd of Uvalde citizens, most of whom were roaring with laughter. Charlie was well known in the area for his ability to seek and find female companionship. It would have been his ability to climb a fence that Brannigan would have questioned. Liz could have told him that lust was the most powerful motivator of the male mind.
“Is Beulah hurt?” Bear asked, biting his lower lip.
“Hurt? Good God, you ignorant Texas hillbilly, she is now officially disposable garbage. I’ll take her over to the vet and have her put down immediately. Then, I expect you do the same for that lecherous mongrel lying out on the courthouse lawn.”
Both Bear and Brannigan were dumbfounded when Mrs. Bushworthington pulled a purse gun from her handbag. Bear took it out of her hand. “Ma’am, no guns are allowed on courthouse grounds.” He was no longer smiling.
Mrs. Bushworthington stormed out. In fifteen minutes, she returned with her husband and a local attorney, G. Gilliand Rush. Mr. Bushworthington was pale and appeared near death from lack of oxygen. Lawyer Rush seemed bewildered by the situation.
Mrs. Bushworthington again demanded Charlie be executed on the spot, adding she still intended to have Beulah euthanized by the local vet.
“Doggone, Mrs. Bushworthington,” lawyer Rush said, wringing his hands. “It’s a civil matter. Ain’t much I can do.”
Bear Smith broke the tension when he quipped, “We may have to place Beulah in jail: loose morals in public.”
Bear’s wife, Mary, had joined the crowd. “Bear Smith, Mrs. Bushworthington has complained that Charlie committed rape. Arrest Beulah, and Charlie has to be locked up too.”
Bear removed his derby and scratched his thick red-haired head. “By golly, Mary, you’re right. We have only one empty cell. We’ll have to lock ’em up together. Is cohabitation suitable to you, Mrs. Bushworthington?”
Mrs. Bushworthington stared at him with round-mouthed, round-eyed horror but could utter not a word.
Bear said, “Guess that means it’s okay. Morals and all in play here, but dogs sorta do what they do. I’m arresting both Charlie and Beulah.”
Brannigan said calmly. “Ma’am, we’re terrible sorry. I’ll pay you $20 for Beulah, and we’ll find another Newfoundland in Harper’s Weekly. I’ll pay for that animal, too.”
“In addition to the twenty?” the pudgy preacher interceded, eyes anxious with greed.
Brannigan nodded. “And I’ll pay the shipping to get your new dog to Uvalde.”
Lawyer Rush spoke. “Er, my fee is six dollars. Is someone going to—”
Brannigan counted out six silver dollars and handed them to Rush, who immediately scurried away, metal clinking in his pocket.
Reverend Bushworthington, seizing the opportunity, said, “Brannigan, you pay us the twenty, we keep Beulah and ship her to a friend in Philadelphia, at your expense, then you still pay for my grieving wife’s new animal?”
“No, preacher. I buy Beulah and run an ad in Harper’s.” Brannigan handed the preacher a $20-dollar U.S. Gold Certificate. “The rest when due. But seems to me, Beulah’s life is in danger, gauged by your wife’s mental condition. We’re going to keep Beulah in custody as a matter of public safety until we ship her to a new home.”
“Ship who? The dog or my wife?”
“That would be a family decision, sir. Will your wife bring more than nine dollars?”
Mrs. Bushworthington ran screaming out to the street, now thronged with people.
Brannigan looked at the preacher, then Bear. “Bear, can you go arrest Beulah and lock her and Charlie in the vacant basement cell?”
“Okay, Henry Paul, but I swear we’re locking up the wrong female.”
The preacher snorted but didn’t disagree as he clutched the $20 he’d just come into.
Branigan and Bear walked down the block to the office of the local veterinarian.
“Gents, the only way Charlie’s ‘rape’ could have any effect is during this exposure. Soon as the female goes out of season and comes back in, she’s as good as new. The preacher and his wife are mistaken.”
And in a normal world, that would have smoothed over a difficult situation. However, nobody within the advertising reach of Harper’s seemed interested in owning a 150-pound, non-virginal dog who consumed more food than two grown men.
* * *
Copyright © 2018 by Gary Clifton
