for the sake of family
Date Published: 12-01-2025
Set in the late 1890’s, The Brothers Brown - a family saga, Part 2 - For the Sake of Family is a sweeping frontier saga of love, guilt, and redemption - an unflinching portrait of a man’s descent into madness amid the unforgiving wilds of Indian Territory.
When Matt Brown boards a northbound train, he carries more than a pistol. He carries the weight of his brother’s death, a marriage strained to its breaking point, and a conscience at war with itself. A doctor’s brown vial of medicine offers fleeting relief but soon draws him into a darker world where pain and guilt blur into something far more dangerous.
His wife, Milla, proud and rooted in her Choctaw heritage, stands as both his anchor and his judge as the world around them shifts under the weight of change and loss.
From Fort Smith, Arkansas, to the wooded banks of Bokchito Creek, two families are bound by tragedy and love, vengeance and mercy. A celebration meant to heal ignites old resentments. A family gathering ends in bloodshed. And a winter dance turns deadly, forcing each to face the cost of survival, forgiveness, and the ties that bind them.
Steeped in the spirit of the Choctaw Nation and the rough mercy of the Old West, For the Sake of Family is a haunting tale of madness, murder, and the fragile hope that redemption can be found on the far side of ruin.
In his mind, Matt
watched the pain in his young wife’s eyes drain straight down to her soul.
It’s my fault that
she doesn’t trust me, he realized. And
she had a point. A secret is the same as a lie. And the truth is, I tried to
hide my past from her. For a seventeen-year-old woman, she sure is wise. I
guess that’s the Choctaw blood in her. And she stayed
with me. That must be from her upbringing, too.
Milla’s strength ran
deep, drawn from her heritage and her grandmother, Granny Sukey, a woman who
carried herself with the quiet authority of someone who never needed to raise
her voice.
Granny Sukey was the
most traditional Choctaw woman he had ever met; completely unshaken by stares
and whispers of the white settlers who thought themselves more civilized. Her
long dark hair with streaks of silver fell loosely around her small face and
almond-shaped eyes with the same grace as a horse’s flowing mane. Barely five feet
tall, she walked lightly in beaded rawhide boots and buckskin dresses, always
wrapped in a brightly colored shawl.
She came from the
Folsom clan, strong and fierce, said to be of ancient blood and revered in the
old Choctaw Nation in Mississippi. It was no secret that she had advised Milla
to stay in the marriage because of the pregnancy.
Milla had said to him
one night, “Granny Sukey reminded me that Choctaw women were the head of the
home. We’re warriors and loyal. My strength will lead our family into the
future.”
From that day
forward, Milla did as she saw fit, seldom seeking Matt’s approval for anything.
She’s a good wife, Matt reminded himself. And I love her truly. One day
she’ll trust me again.
As the train pulled
away from the depot, Matt couldn’t help but draw the small curtain away from
the window and peek out, just to see if she was there. She was not.
With his back against
the wall, legs outstretched on the bed, and ankles crossed, Matt shifted his
holster a quarter inch forward to allow for better access while seated. He sat
quietly for a moment then fished a silver pocket watch from his vest pocket,
cradling it firmly in one palm. Its chain, looped through a buttonhole of his
vest, swung gently as he held it.
Matt hesitated. As if
counting the sorrows of Milla wasn’t enough, the watch brought something
darker. Staring at it, he debated whether this was a conversation he wanted to
have with himself, again.
A long breath
followed, then a sigh. His thumb pressed the button on top, and the cover
sprang open with a snap. Instinctively, his thumb glided softly over Milla’s
image inside the lid. Then he looked at the time.
“Ten-thirty-two,”
he said aloud.
In the quiet of his mind,
the count resumed.
Two hundred twenty-three
days, nine hours and twenty-six - no, twenty-seven minutes.
Since I murdered my
brother.
300
Words
The
sun was just rising through the thick leafy branches, offering deep shadows to
hide in. This is what she was looking for. Milla dropped her bucket and pushed
Matt against a tree.
Letting
his bucket clatter to the ground, Matt took Milla by the waist, pulling her
against his chest. His hand cradled the back of her head as he kissed her with
a slow, passionate intensity.
Her
soft moans rose over the sound of the flowing creek. “Not here,” she whispered
breathlessly. “Closer to the creek.”
She
led him deeper into the woods. Finally, the flow of water drowned out the sound
of her passion; a hidden place where she could see the bridge and know if
anyone was crossing.
Milla
rested her back against a rough-barked tree. “This is better,” she sighed as he
lifted her skirt.
“Are
you sure?”
Her
lips brushed his neck in a breathy reply. “Yes.”
With one arm around Matt’s shoulder, Milla
held her skirt up while Matt fumbled with his britches. He lifted her thigh
against his waist, her body yielding... until she stiffened, inhaled deeply...
then screamed, pushing him away. Her frightened eyes met Matt’s confused stare
and then locked onto something beyond him.
“Granny!”
Milla screamed, running down the edge of the creek, fighting the thorn vines
snagging her skirt.
Matt
yanked up his britches and tore after her.
“Granny!”
she screamed again, racing toward the bridge.
“Milla!
Milla, wait!” Matt gave chase, tripping as he buttoned his pants.
Her
footsteps pounded across the wooden bridge, echoing through the trees, and she
cried even louder, “Granny! I think it’s Granny!”
On
the other side of the creek, where the path met the blueberry bushes, a body
lay in a heap beside the footpath of the cemetery. As Matt got closer, dread
seized him. The buckskin dress was unmistakable. Granny Sukey. She lay
motionless on her side, facing the bushes.
About the Author
With no close relatives nearby, R.G. Stanford turned to online resources in search of extended family. That search became a twenty-year journey through genealogy websites, Federal Census records, the National Archives, and old newspapers. Along the way, R.G. Stanford uncovered incredible stories about her family and the people who once lived in the Choctaw Nation, Indian Territory.
Compelled to record the truth of her family in the lore, sprinkled with imagination, R.G. Stanford is a history lover, a research buff, and a passionate genealogy enthusiast. She is also a mother, a grandmother, and a teller of stories, now living near Orlando.
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