Glorious (7 page)

Cash McLendon married Ellen Douglass on a glorious spring day in 1870. Shortly before the ceremony, Mr. Douglass said there was something he needed to know about Ellen's health.

“She's a high-strung girl, and always has been.” Mr. Douglass took McLendon to his study. “My wife and I have been obliged to be
vigilant with her, and now you must too. She has wild moods, falls into them without warning. Then there are dreadful scenes, and on rare occasions she has even tried to do harm to herself if she feels thwarted in her wishes.” He opened a small safe and removed a stoppered glass vial filled with a light brown liquid. “To help keep her steady, the doctor prescribes laudanum, liquid essence of poppies. At breakfast and in mid-afternoon, Ellen takes three drops in a glass of water. The laudanum is kept in this safe because she likes it too much, and taking it in excess is very dangerous. Two doses daily, and never more. I'll give you the combination of the safe. Usually her mother administers the medicine, but sometimes the responsibility may fall to you. Remember: Never leave the laudanum bottle where Ellen can get at it.” He shook his head and looked grim. “I adore my daughter, and expect you to cherish her, and to protect her from the slightest harm.”

McLendon hoped that his father-in-law might be exaggerating. There was no honeymoon because Ellen couldn't be trusted to behave on a trip. Instead, Mr. Douglass took his wife away to New York for a week and the newlyweds stayed behind in the St. Louis mansion. Before leaving, Mr. Douglass reminded McLendon that Ellen could never be left alone.

“During this honeymoon, if you're sent word of some emergency in one of the factories, contact Brautigan and send him to sort it out,” he instructed. “Be patient with her. When Ellen's in a fit, she doesn't know what she's saying or doing.”

For most of the week, Ellen seemed happy, and McLendon did his best to feel the same. He still thought of Gabrielle sometimes, but his wife was beautiful, the suite of rooms they shared in the Douglass mansion was luxurious, and as Rupert Douglass's son-in-law he was now a man of considerable standing. Ellen docilely took her laudanum doses, and they seemed to have the required effect. In the
afternoons they played croquet on the wide green lawn. He let her win because it pleased her. At night she made love with a ferocious energy that surprised him. He wished their conversations were more rewarding. Unlike Gabrielle, who liked to talk about almost anything, Ellen seemed interested in very little beyond what her parents would bring her back from New York.

McLendon wanted to be a good husband, and to come to feel the same genuine affection for Ellen that he had had for Gabrielle. The night before the Douglasses were due back from New York, McLendon and Ellen enjoyed a delicious meal. They were served coffee with dessert, and McLendon wanted a second cup. He rang a small bell to summon a servant, but no one came.

“I'd better see what they're doing in the kitchen,” he told Ellen, and left the dining room. It turned out that the cook had accidentally spilled a basin of gravy, and she and the other three live-in staff were mopping it up. McLendon retrieved the coffeepot and returned to the dining room. He hadn't been gone more than two minutes, but in the interim Ellen had transformed from a happy bride to a screaming harridan.

“You've been with somebody else!” she shouted. Her eyes were wide and wild.

McLendon was caught off guard. “What? I just went for more coffee,” he said, and held up the pot. Ellen screeched and knocked the pot from his hand, drenching the tablecloth and some window drapes with coffee. Then she charged McLendon, trying to scratch his face with her long nails. He caught her wrists and tried to hold her back. “Stop, Ellen,” he said, trying to soothe her. “What's all this? What's made you so upset?”

Ellen clawed at him a moment more, then wrenched free. “You fucked her!” she screamed. “You fucked her!” McLendon was
astonished that she knew the word. It had never occurred to him that a fine society girl would.

“Stop saying that,” he pleaded, but Ellen persisted, spitting out the same three words over and over again. Then, just when he thought she'd never stop, she did. She stood silently and stared at him for a moment, then began battering her head against the wall. Her forehead was bruised and her nose began to bleed. McLendon grabbed her again and wrestled her to the floor. She howled and fought him until McLendon suggested that she take some laudanum. Ellen stopped struggling at once and said, “Yes, please.”

She'd already had her two prescribed daily doses, but he felt that this was an emergency. Ellen watched greedily as he measured out the drops into a glass of water. She gulped down the drink and almost immediately became drowsy. McLendon washed her bloody face, put her to bed, then called the servants to clean up the dining room. When the Douglasses returned the next day, McLendon told them what had happened. They weren't surprised.

“Ellen does these things,” her mother said wearily. “We'd hoped being married might calm her. If this happens again while we're absent and you can't restrain her, call for Mrs. Reynolds. She'll help you.”

McLendon asked, “Aren't there places where Ellen might go to be helped? With special doctors trained in this kind of thing?”

“You mean lunatic asylums,” Mr. Douglass snapped. “Not for my daughter—ever. Be a good husband to her. Maybe it will help. And next time, no extra laudanum. She could become addicted.”

•   •   •

M
C
L
ENDON REALIZED
that he had made a bad bargain. He was important now, and could have virtually any material thing that he wanted. But it was impossible for him to relax at home, because he
never knew when Ellen would suffer one of her fits. They usually involved loudly accusing him in the coarsest possible terms of being unfaithful. Sometimes her parents helped gently subdue her, but usually they left it to McLendon. After each episode, he found himself remembering the sense of peace he'd found with Gabrielle. At home at night, when he needed time away from Ellen's tantrums, he closed himself inside a small room he used as a study and reread the books that Gabrielle had given him. Now, when he owned so many fine things, he realized that
The Last of the Mohicans
was his most prized possession. He thought how comforting it would be to see Gabrielle again, even as an old friend rather than a lover. But he'd promised Mr. Douglass that he'd have no further contact with her. It wasn't worth the risk.

In late 1871, McLendon had to meet with a foreman at the factory directly across from Tirrito Dry Goods. He'd consciously avoided going anywhere near there, but now had no choice. Though he couldn't talk to Gabrielle, perhaps he might catch a discreet glimpse of her. Surely Mr. Douglass couldn't fault him for that. He felt impatient during the factory meeting, finally cutting it short, and left the building through a side entrance that offered a clear view of the dry goods shop. He was stunned to see that it was empty. The door sagged open toward the sidewalk. The hand-carved sign in front was gone.

Stunned, McLendon walked into the store. There was dust and cobwebs on the shelves. It had clearly been empty for some time. He went outside and circled to the small house in back. It was empty too. A woman was sweeping the porch of a nearby house, and McLendon recognized Gabrielle's aunt Lidia. When he greeted her, she glared and said contemptuously, “You.”

“They're gone?” McLendon asked, knowing that he sounded foolish and not caring that he did.

“You broke her heart, so they left. A letter I got says they're in that
Arizona Territory, someplace called Glorious. They got another store. After what you done to her, she couldn't stay here.”

“I thought her father loved this store.”

“He loved the girl more, just like you should have. She's a good one, the best. Now go away.”

•   •   •

F
OR SEVERAL MONTHS
after her wedding, Ellen continued having violent fits. McLendon wearily accepted them as a new fact in his life—and then they stopped. A week went by, then another, and Ellen remained calm. She was attentive to her husband, and talked in the evening about normal things like the weather and decorating the mansion for Christmas. She seemed so calm that one Sunday afternoon McLendon told Mr. Douglass that he thought he might take Ellen out for a short carriage ride. There had been snow during the week, and the countryside had taken on a festive white sparkle.

“That's a bad idea,” Mr. Douglass said. “We generally try to keep her inside. If she's away from home, she may get in a mood and try to run. It's happened before.”

“She's been doing very well,” McLendon said. “I think that perhaps doing an ordinary thing like having a ride in the snow would be good for her.”

Mr. Douglass stuck a warning finger in front of McLendon's face. “You watch her every minute, and if she acts up in any way, bring her home immediately. I'll not have Ellen making a spectacle of herself where the public can see.”

•   •   •

I
T TOOK ALMOST AN HOUR
for Ellen to get ready. She seemed pleased to be bundled in a heavy coat and fur hat as her husband
helped her up into the carriage. McLendon tapped the horse with a whip and they rolled merrily out past the mansion gate. It was a lovely day, cold but sunny. He found himself enjoying the ride very much, being in such a fine gleaming carriage with his pretty, laughing young wife at his side. It was the first moment of complete contentment that he'd had since his marriage.

A few green sprigs of holly poked through the snow, and Ellen begged McLendon to stop for a moment so she could break them off from the bush. He did, and while Ellen fussed with the holly, McLendon idly looked back down the road. Several hundred yards behind them, sitting astride another horse from the mansion's stable, he recognized the unmistakable hulking form of Patrick Brautigan, Killer Boots, who must have been summoned by Mr. Douglass to keep watch over Ellen on her special excursion. McLendon raised his hand and waved at Brautigan, who didn't wave back or otherwise respond.

•   •   •

E
LLEN CONTINUED
to behave well, so much so that McLendon thought the time might come soon when she could be left in the care of the mansion staff or even completely alone for short periods, though her father was adamantly against it.

In February 1872, when Mr. Douglass went to Philadelphia for a meeting with potential investors in his St. Louis munitions factory, his wife went with him. She liked the city's shops and museums. Patrick Brautigan went too. Mr. Douglass felt that a bodyguard would impress the men he was meeting. They expected to be away for five days. Mrs. Reynolds would stay with Ellen at the mansion while McLendon was at work.

On the third day after the Douglasses left, Mrs. Reynolds sent word that she was ill and would be unable to stay with Ellen, so
McLendon worked from home. It was enjoyable. Ellen sat in the study with him while he read reports and wrote out orders to suppliers. In the early evening they played croquet. After dinner, McLendon and Ellen had settled down for a pleasant night in their sitting room when they were interrupted. A messenger sent by the foreman of the munitions plant reported that there had been a chemical spill, and noxious vapors were sickening the late-shift workers. The foreman thought it would be necessary to close the plant until the mess was cleaned up, but he couldn't do so without permission. Was it okay with Mr. McLendon?

McLendon thought it over. He had no desire to risk the workers' health, but he wasn't certain that the foreman's judgment was reliable. The work that would be interrupted was part of an important new contract, the plant's first one from the Department of War. If the ammunition contracted for was delivered on time, it would probably lead to more lucrative business. A delay might very well have the opposite effect. There was always hot competition for government contracts. He decided he would go see for himself. But when he told Ellen that he had to go out for just a short while, she flew into a hysterical rage.

“You're going off to meet a whore!” she shouted.

“Of course I'm not. I just have to see about an accident at one of your father's factories. I'll be home before you know it.”

“Your whore will have the pox, and you'll give it to me. You're not going, no, no,
no
!”

McLendon momentarily considered bringing Ellen with him, but she was so out of control that he decided he couldn't. Sighing, he chose another option. She'd already had her two daily doses of laudanum. If he gave her a third, she would probably nap until he returned. Her father had ordered not to exceed her regular dosage again, but this was an emergency and Mr. Douglass wasn't there.

“Would you like your special drink?” he asked. The question had the effect that he'd hoped. Ellen stopped screaming immediately and followed him eagerly to the safe in Ruppert Douglass's study, where he dialed the combination and took out the vial of laudanum. It was almost empty. After he measured out three drops into a glass of water, only bare dregs remained in the vial, not enough for even one more full dose. In the morning he'd have to send one of the servants to get the prescription refilled. Ellen drank her glassful down, then docilely allowed McLendon to walk her to their bed, where he covered her with a comforter. He was impatient to get to the factory, and she seemed about to fall asleep.

“I'll be home soon,” he said.

Ellen muttered, “Promise?”

McLendon hurried to the plant and ended up staying for several hours. First he summoned a cleanup crew and supervised as they worked. Then he gathered the plant workers who'd been milling outside and told them they could return to work. Some were reluctant, and he had to persuade them that the chemicals were cleaned up and the air inside was again safe to breathe. It was past midnight when he finally started home, and on the way he suddenly wondered if he'd locked the laudanum back in the safe before he left. He was relieved when he remembered that even if he hadn't, there'd hardly been any left. If Ellen did get at the vial, there wasn't enough to hurt her.