Poison Runs Through It

A few of the stories I’ve been working on for the book entitled the Bedside Book of Bad Girls: Outlaw Women of the American Mid-west are a little rough. I spent the bulk of yesterday writing about Elizabeth Reed, the first woman to be hung in the state of Illinois. Her story is desperately sad and begins as follows: “The commotion coming from inside a dilapidated cabin in the heart of the forest near Lawrenceville, Illinois on the Embarras River in late December 1824 was loud enough to keep all manner of wildlife at bay. A clay pitcher shattered through a dirty window and the sound of two people arguing echoed over the ancient mass of pine and fir trees surrounding the crude dwelling. Elizabeth Fail, a painfully thin fifteen year old girl, flung the door of the cabin open and tried to exit. Her face was swollen and bruised and her lip was bleeding. She was halfway outside when she was jerked back into the cabin by an unshaven brute of a man with eyes inflamed by whisky. He knocked Elizabeth onto the floor and kicked her hard in the side. She struck a table filled with dishes, food and a kerosene lamp and they fell onto the floor as she struggled to crawl to a corner of the shabby one-room structure. The plates, cups and lamp broke into pieces when it hit the hard ground and the kerosene spilled out of the busted glass dome. The enraged man picked up a Barlow style knife protruding out of a hunk of cooked deer meat laying on the floor and advanced toward Elizabeth. Her eyes were wide with terror. She screamed as he carved the left side of her face with the knife. Blood gushed everywhere. In between stabbings Elizabeth punched him in the throat with all the strength she had. The out of control thug fell backwards and dropped the knife. His knees buckled and he gasped for air. Elizabeth quickly made her way to the stone fireplace and snatched up a long iron rod, the end of which had been lying in the fire and was flaming red hot. She held the piece of metal out in front of her, ready to strike the man should he get on his feet again and come after her. Elizabeth was a fountain of blood as she raced to the door. The injured man caught her leg before she exited and she hit him over the head with the poker. He let go of her and slowly sank into the floor. Elizabeth anxiously waited for him to come to but he was unconscious and motionless. She threw the poker down next to the table and the spilled kerosene. The heated end ignited the liquid and set the table on fire. Elizabeth turned and raced out of the cabin. Leaves from low hanging tree limbs smacked her arms and bleeding face as she ran away from the violent scene. A flash of light and the sound of roaring flames prompted her to stop and look back. The cabin was engulfed with fire. The man Elizabeth left behind staggered out of the door of the cabin, brutally burned. She watched in horror as he collapsed, still burning and died. Elizabeth “Betsey” Fail was born in Purgatory Swamp, Illinois in the fall of 1807. She was the youngest among seven children her parents Abraham and Sarah had and history records her life was difficult from the moment she entered the world. The Fails were poor farmers. The fertile land near the Wabash River where they lived was stubborn and could only be subdued with vigorous cultivation. Crops were often washed away by flood waters or overtaken by insects. Abraham struggled to keep his family clothed and fed. By the time Elizabeth turned nine her parents decided that anyone in the home unable to strenuously worked the fields as needed would have to go. A peddler traveling through Lawrence County in 1815 offered to take Elizabeth with him if the Fails were willing. Sarah agreed but demanded a cast-iron skillet and five pounds of lard in exchange for her daughter.” A cast-iron skillet and five pounds of lard – that’s all her life was worth to her mother. Elizabeth never got over her mother’s betrayal. Her story made me think about how much we are a product of our upbringing. I’m certainly not advocating we poison anyone as Elizabeth did because we weren’t treated kindly as a child but we do tend to view the world differently if we have parents who nurture and support us. None of the ten women I’ve written about in this book came from good homes. Family plays a big role in the way we think about situations. Based on the research I’ve done for this book, it would seem crazy can be passed down from generation to generation and cruelty can truly be a person’s legacy. There was a big hole in Elizabeth’s life left there by her mother and nothing she ever did could fill it. She died as she lived, wondering if she mattered. I feel your pain, Elizabeth.