Anna Walden was born February 6, 1836, on a farm outside Roanoke, Missouri. She is the second child of Patrick and Catherine Walden, her sister, Ophelia, being four years older. Life is not easy for young Anna. Her mother is a cold and embittered woman, estranged from her traveling husband, Patrick, who drinks to excess when at home. Anna yearns for parental love and finds it through her grandmother, Lucretia Walden, with whom she stays as often as she is allowed. Tragically, both of Anna’s parents die of typhoid when she is 13 and she goes to live with her beloved grandmother in Roanoke.
At age 16, Anna, against her grandmother’s wishes, marries Charles Denny, a local farmer 12 years her senior. Their marriage produces two children, Emma and William. Charles is a good husband and father, but he is not an affectionate man. He is consumed with making their farm a showplace and he succeeds, but in doing so his and Anna’s marriage becomes stale and lacking in passion.
At 26, Anna longs for her husband’s attentions, but his obsession with the farm keeps him away from the marriage bed. In the winter of 1861-62, with the Civil War under way, Charles is forced to work ceaselessly to keep what he has built, and as a result, his health quickly deteriorates and he becomes seriously ill. He dies of pneumonia on December 28, 1861, leaving Anna alone on their huge farm with their two children as the war comes ever closer.
Excerpt: Anna's Journal
January 3, 1862
Although there has been little time with which to dally, I have been fortunate that with Nana’s presence and careful tending to the children, I have had time to be alone with my thoughts. It seems for the first time I am indulging in the most intimate conversations, solely with myself.
How I miss Charles. I long to look out across the expanse of the land and watching him plant, or harvest. I miss his playful antics with the children and his companionship at night. I increasingly feel the absence of his wisdom and capable hands that tended to all matters of the farm. And I miss the little things too, such as the way his jacket just barely clung to the hook, one sleeve often inside out, and his boots that were carelessly kicked off, landing in a muddy heap. These little reminders of the way he was, now leaves a hole in my heart. He was a gentle and caring father to the children and the most generous provider a woman could ask for.
There have been times over the years that I’ve wondered if there was something, just some little, yet crucial part of our marriage that was absent. Having only had Nana with whom to discuss personal issues, I feel justified in saying I’ve not had much experience with matters of the heart. I have never doubted my love for Charles, but neither was I assured that I attracted him as I felt a wife should attract her husband.
After William was born, he rarely visited my side of the bed, and although I was consumed with caring for the children and other daily duties of the house, so much so that I, too, fell into a dreamless sleep, it hurt me deeply to realize that I must have disappointed him in the ways that satisfy a man. Being that he was reticent about such things he never said a word, but what I felt when he kissed me on my forehead each night before sleep, communicated what his words could not. There were times, I am sure, that I would have welcomed him completely into my arms and reveled in our consummation, but I was too uncertain to make known my desires. Why do we mortals acquire life’s lessons too late?
Joshua Hurt was born in 1836 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Edmund Stanley Hurt and Abigail Drexel Potts. Edmund Stanley Hurt was the wealthiest man in the state, owner of Hurt Ironworks and coalfields. A brusque and cruel father, Edmund browbeat his son almost from birth, berating him to hurry up and assume his place in the Hurt expanding empire. In stark contrast, Joshua’s mother, Abigail, was a weak woman, cowed by her raging husband. She pampered young Joshua to excess, leaving the child in a virtual tug-of-war between parents.
As a young teen, Joshua rebels against his parents, particularly Edmund. He begins associating with those his father hates most, spending his time with prostitutes and in saloons. He is strikingly handsome with dark, wavy hair and deep-set brown eyes, and he becomes very popular with the ladies of the night.
Contracting syphilis, Joshua begins a long downward spiral. He decides to become a doctor, but is refused financial help from his furious father. So Joshua eventually pays his own way through medical school by performing abortions on the prostitutes of Pittsburgh.
Once out of college, he packs up and heads west, hoping to find the freedom to continue his nefarious medical practice. He winds up in a small town in central Missouri, where he meets Anna.
Excerpt: From Joshua Hurt
March 4, 1862
My dear Anna,
With this pen I must entreat upon you my most humble appreciation for your company this past day. I found our conversation during lunch at Sullivan’s truly delightful. It pained me so to see the afternoon end. Being in your company would be the high point of any day of mine. I hope you don’t find this forward, because I relate these feelings to you with only the sincerest and chaste intentions. Oh my! Did I say “intentions?” To that end I mean only the “intention” of asking that I may call again. Will there be an opportunity to meet with you while you finish your stay in Roanoke? Perhaps I can offer my carriage to take you to your home? I would enjoy seeing with my own eyes the beautiful place you described so eloquently. It truly sounds like heaven, but dare I say, perhaps that is because of your presence there?
I noticed that your lovely grandmother seemed upset. I pray it wasnít my presence that her made so. If there is anything amiss that I may be of service in rectifying, please never hesitate in asking. It would be my humble and joyful honor to assist you in whatever it is you require.
I await your reply and bestow upon you the best wishes for a safe trip.
Your Humble Servant
& most truly Yours,
Joshua Hurt
Excerpt: Hurt’s Journal
March 4, 1862
Since my farewell to Anna, my curiosity has been paramount wondering what was contained in the letter her Grandma Biddy was clutching. I dare say it was not a friendly expression her wrinkled puss was giving to me, but what do I care?
I must say Anna is a delectable creature. I behold a fire in those eyes that vividly contrasts with her widowís weeds. Life on her farm must be quieter than a mouse peeing on a ball of cotton. She definitely needs someone to plow her back 40.
I wrote her a note sweetly stroking her and ingratiating myself into another visit, this time in enemy territory, amidst the wrinkled universe of her granny. I must be on my best behavior! Now where did I put it?
Reed Benson was born in 1836 in Virginia to Arliss and Eva Benson. His family moved to Missouri when Reed was 10, settling in the Ozarks, where they attempted to farm on the rock-strewn Ozark Plateau. It was backbreaking work, but the family persevered and their farm was beginning to succeed. When Reed is 13, his father and older brother are killed in a logging accident and shortly thereafter his mother dies. On his own, young Reed makes his way to the Missouri River where he earns his living as a fur trapper, becoming one of the best at the trade. An exceptional shot with a rifle, he was also well read and very articulate.
He settles in Rocheport for a few years, working for a local furrier, then falls in love with a young half-Cherokee girl, who dies suddenly in a typhoid epidemic. Devastated, Reed leaves Missouri and journeys to the mountains of Montana, living the life of a mountain man for four years. He returns to Missouri in 1862, seeking to cleanse his wounded spirit by facing the fire of battle.
Excerpt: Reed's Journal
April 6, 1862
The human animal likes to buy things. I see men buying “love” here, in hopes that they will find that eternal heart to beat with theirs. The thing is, you wonít find it in a whorehouse. When some men realize that they turn violent, and that is what took place here last night, in the very room next to mine.
I guess the drunken lout from the other night who was seeking “Lucy” finally found the correct room, but Lucy couldn’t, or wouldn’t provide what he was really seeking. So he set about carving her face, etching his vile misconception of love in deep gashes. Her screams brought me out into the hall and then into her room. I saw the bastard astride the twisting girl, one hand gripping her hair and the other slicing her cheeks to ribbons. Blood was spattered on the sheets and the wall next to the bed. The man turned, saw me and rolled off the mattress, crouching naked like an animal on the floor, wildly waving his knife. He lunged at me with the bloody blade and I easily knocked it from his hand, all the while witnessing the gaping, ghastly work he had performed on the poor girlís once-lovely face.
The next thing I recall was the sickening crack of his neck being broken, twisted to breakage by my own hands. He dropped to the floor limp and heavy, gone from this life. I left him there and attended to the hysterical girl, using the sheets to stem the blood. From below I could hear frantic thumping as someone else responded to the screams and was racing up the stairs.
Pearl rushed in and seeing Lucy’s face plus the naked dead man on the floor, shrieked and began kicking his now passive face with rage using her heavy boots. She must have known this man and his intentions, or maybe she knew his unstable nature, but I didnít care, he was beyond harming anyone now and the one who was harmed badly needed our help.
Pearl carried the near-fainting girl out of the room. As she passed me she nodded at the corpse and said, “Leave that shit on the floor, someone will sweep it up.” She then thanked me for saving Lucy’s life and I was left feeling like I was in Hell’s garden, surrounded by choking weeds. I returned to my room and washed the blood from my hands. Minutes later I overheard Pearl out in the hall saying something to someone who was probably a doctor:
“He snapped his neck like a chicken. Good thing, cuz that shit-heel had been stalkin’ Lucy for weeks.” There was a pause, a male mumble, then Pearl shouted, “I donít know how that fucker got in here! All I know is theyíre takin’ him out now, tits-up and well of it! I hope that sumbitch is barkin’ in hell!”
I fought the urge to heave and moved to the window, breathing in the night air, praying that the cleansing fire would soon overtake me.
Pearl, known only as “Sweet River” Pearl, was born in 1837 to an impoverished family in north Missouri. Growing up in dire poverty and repeatedly abused by her father, she leaves home at 13 after his death and decides to become a prostitute. Strong, brash, assertive and ever hopeful, Pearl survives in the underworld, working in some of the roughest saloons and whorehouses in Missouri. In 1862 she works in Fayette, at a saloon called Cuthbert’s. Here she meets a young doctor from Pennsylvania, Joshua Hurt. She moves in with him, all the while continuing to work as a prostitute and assists Joshua in his illegal practices of abortion and extortion.
A striking, “big-boned gal,” with raven hair and dark eyes, Pearl lives the “whore’s dream,” longing for a normal, married life away from the seedy, violent underworld. She hopes to find it with the young doctor.
Excerpt: Pearl's Journal
April 5, 1862
Took me half the damn day to rid the pain in my head. Sleep was what I needed, and thank the good lord, Doc Josh didnt come in pokin me fore I was human again. I should git some food fore the nights activities begin, caint do good work on an empty stomack. Whiskey goes straight to the head.
Damn, dont know what to make of Reed. Mr. Reed Benson, that is. A gentleman if I ever did see one. Whats he doin in this neck of the woods is beyond me, but one things for sure, I dont mind castin my peepers on him one bit. He is one gorgeous hunk a meat. Hes got some kind a moral character to, try as I might, I caint tempt him for one dang minute. Damn that irks me. He gits me wetter then a beaver in a pond! Whats he lookin for anyway? By rights I spose I ought not be settin my eyes on no one cept for Doc Josh. We are in this together thick as thieves and we need each other. Caint even think bout what would become a me iffen he got taken off to the war. Our business is jist now pickin up, though I gotta hope the sight a all that blood dont make me feel queasy every time — maybe I should picture it bein green, like the money wes gitten for providin this service to our fellow sisters.
Doc Josh is somethin to behold when he gits goin boy. I notice that when we was gittin ready to take care a Marys little problem. Some wicked way hes got bout hisself and I reckon he gits hisself fairly worked up over the whole situation. Makin that unfortunate pregger git nekkid like he did, strappin her feet apart, he likes doing that I think. Seemed a bit humiliatin to me, but hes the doc and he makes all the rules. And I jist caint help myself, when I see that look comin over him he makes me want to toss him on the bed nekkid and go at it for hours. Caint complain to much, we sure have some rousin fun afterwards. Hes jist got to do somethin to keep hisself out of the war. I wish marryin Miss Fancy Pants Widow wasnt part a the deal. Dont I jist wonder if hes bucked her on the bed yet, caint imagin the likes a her having much fun. You can betcha he will have to show her a thing or two or he will be chokin his chicken til he gits back to me. All this talk has put a bear in my belly. I best go see what Paddy is throwin on the fire tonight.
Estill Northington was born in 1816 in Missouri. Little is known about his early life, but he settled in central Missouri around 1834, becoming a postman in the Roanoke area, as well as a local blacksmith. A towering figure, he stands well over six-feet tall with massive shoulders and arms. He wears his hair long draped over his shoulders and has a full beard. Despite this imposing presence, he is a gentle, soft-spoken man. He becomes a devoted friend to the Walden family, particularly Lucretia, Annaís grandmother, watching over her and young Anna and assisting them in times of need. As the war deepens in Missouri, the widowed Anna comes to rely on Estill more and more and he becomes her guardian and protector in some of their darkest hours.
Excerpt: Estill
March 26, 1862
“And what do you think of this Dr. Hurt?”
Estill looked at Vodra with a weariness she had never seen in him before. He would answer her question knowing she would never tell a soul, but the act of releasing what he had been carrying inside for days would not be easy.
“I think he is the devil himself,” he muttered, glancing at the Irish housekeeper to catch her reaction. To his surprise she nodded. “I think the devil is at least a bit more honest,” she added. “This garmy makes me want to lock my door at night and sleep with one eye open.”
They felt almost conspiratorial, meeting along the road south of the farm. Vodra sat next to Estill on the carriage seat as he let Babe take her time moving. The breeze was warm, fresh and steady from the south. Spring was arriving, but its promise of new life rang hollow with the two on the carriage.
“I’d ask what does she see in him,” Estill blurted almost wistfully, “but we both know he is a charmer, full of big city, eastern ways.”
Vodra rolled her eyes and with exasperation, said, “He is full of sheep-dip. He’s a leech, a liar and knows as much about medicine as a dog knows about Sunday. Eastern ways? Estill, everybody in these parts is from the east. Their ways are no different from ours. This man is just plain no good.”
With a chuckle, Estill replied, “So, do you like this man or not?” Vodra fumed. “That’s right, make light of the situation. Here Anna is about to skip to the altar with Ol’ Scratch and you are making with the jokes.”
Estill apologized and Vodra noticed the sadness in his eyes. This massive man was torn apart within and Vodra knew then that Estill’s heart was truly broken. She took his arm and said, “How do you keep someone from hurting themselves?” Estill hung his head and shook it slowly.
“You can’t,” was all he could muster, as the tears began to slip down his cheeks. With a deep breath he added, “You can only be there to help them up afterwards.”
