My name was Clara Smith. I lived in Kiowa, Kansas in the year of 1899 during the Temperance Movement. I was sixteen years old when I met my husband, August Dunraven. He was twenty-one. Soon after we met, we got married. I got pregnant. Seven months into my pregnancy, I died.
I breathe hard as I step out into the cool, night air. August is away again, at one of the bars in town. Tonight, I finally have the courage to leave him. Slowly, I make my way down the empty road, my hand resting on my stomach as if protecting the child within it.
Sweat glistens on my face as I finally reach the end of town. My legs cry out in pain and I yearn to sit down. I see my mother’s house, dark and quiet. I reach the edge of the yard, but stop as I hear a loud crash coming from down the street. Curiosity overcomes me. Slowly, I turn.
I had heard the rumors of the Temperance Movement. A woman named Carrie Nation was said to raid bars with a hatchet, an action she used to oppose alcohol. Of course, I had only heard the rumors, never actually seen it.
I looked down the street as Carrie Nation stepped into the bar, a hatchet at her side. I heard the crashing and shattering of glass. I heard the men inside the bar, yelling at the woman. A few ran out, including August. Fear enveloped me. I turned back towards the house.
“Clara!” August had seen me. His voice rang angrily through the night.
I ran towards the house as I heard him approaching me. I turned back as I reached the door. He had already made it to the edge of the yard. I ran into the house, slamming the door behind me.
“Mother?! MOTHER?!” I screamed up the stairs and through the house. There was no reply. I could hear August at the door, attempting to break it down.
I ran up the stairs into my mother’s room. I closed the door silently as I heard the front door crash open. Backing up slowly, I listened for him. As I heard him climbing the stairs, I quickly crawled under the bed. The bedroom door opened slowly.
August stepped into the room. “Clara?” His voice was soft, but sharp. I held my breath.
He shut the door and started to walk around the room, stopping by the bed. My heart beat fast as he slowly bent down, “Hello, Clara.”
I screamed as August grabbed me by my hair and pulled me out from under the bed. He stood me up onto my feet, grabbing my wrists. I cried out in pain as he twisted, forcing me to the ground. Still holding tightly to my wrists, he opened the bedroom door, pulling me along.
Tears ran down my cheeks and I screamed as he dragged me down the stairs and into the front room. He pulled me up again and pushed me into the banister. I hit the edge hard and fell to the ground. Warm blood trickled down my forehead, blinding my right eye. I could taste the blood as it drew into my mouth.
August came up to me, grabbing me by the wrist again and yanking me up, breaking my wrist. My arm wrenched and I could feel it leave its socket.
“Why aren’t you at home, Clara? Did you come to join Carrie Nation and the Temperance Movement?” He spit into my face as he spoke, “Are you not faithful to your husband anymore?!” August pulled back on my head, forcing me to look up at him, “You’re just a worthless woman carrying your worthless child.”
“He is…your child…too,” I choked out.
I winced as August drew back his hand and it came down hard onto my face. His rings dragged across my cheek, forming a large gash that sent blood flowing down my neck and soaking my collar, “No he’s not! He’s worthless, you’re worthless, and Carrie Nation is worthless. Women are worthless hags!”
August wrapped his hands around my neck and shook me violently. Then, he thrust his knee into my stomach. I screamed in pain and agony for both myself and my baby. He threw me on the ground. I lay there, too weak to move. My breathing became harsh and my vision darkened.
“No…” I weakly cried as the last scene I saw took place.
August lit a match and threw it onto the couch where he had covered it in alcohol. Flames engulfed it quickly. August stepped out of the house, leaving me and my child to burn.
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