Sixteen Brides Read online

  Only a few minutes after Mrs. Peterson left, Lowell Day wandered in. He looked around the store. Caroline followed his gaze, certain Will wouldn’t allow the man who’d all but attacked her at the dance to stay. Much to her dismay, Will was standing with his back to them as he was telling one of his stories. Day made a show of inspecting the candy jars lined up along one edge and finally selected the peppermint. Five sticks. Caroline handed them over and moved away. He bit off a chunk of candy and munched it.

  “Guess I owe you an apology. Got a bit…rowdy…the other night. I don’t remember it too well, to tell you the truth. I was a little drunk. But the thing is, Hamilton Drake was in the saloon before he left for St. Louis to round you all up, and he said the Society was all about sparking and getting hitched. But then you and those friends of yours decided different, I guess. I didn’t know. I just wanted what I paid for.”

  Her heart pounding, Caroline glanced toward the rear of the store, wishing Will Haywood would look this way and come to rescue her, but Will was oblivious.

  Day took a disgusting swipe at the peppermint stick with his tongue. “Well, now, there’s some that don’t think you ladies can make a homestead work. I, on the other hand, realize that a woman can do a lot of things that would surprise the average man.”

  To keep from shuddering visibly, Caroline headed for the back of the store and Will Haywood, who was just saying, “So Martha tells me, she does, that all six of ’em have decided to be in control of their own destiny. Now, you take Mrs. Barton, for example. There’s a woman who knows what she wants. Why, the minute she saw the cottonwood spring, she was ready to file. She’s got a good plan, too. If any woman on earth can homestead and make it work, Mrs. Barton is likely that woman.”

  “You got that right,” Day agreed, sauntering back to where Caroline stood right next to Will Haywood. Day didn’t miss a beat. “Now, Will, I know what you’re thinking. But I just apologized to this little lady a minute ago for being so drunk the other night and assuming things that just weren’t true—why, we all got to realize you just can’t assume anymore. Like this homesteading thing they’ve got in their heads. Just like Will says, if a woman could do it, Mrs. Barton surely can. I never saw such a woman. What is she? Six feet tall? Hands like a freighter. Why, she reminds me more of a lumberjack than—”

  What Lowell Day said next made Caroline so angry that if she hadn’t seen Jeb Cooper step in through the storeroom door in time to hear Day’s remarks, she would have used one of the new kerosene lamps lined up on a nearby shelf to brain him herself. But by then Day’s throat was enclosed in a beefy hand.

  Jeb Cooper gave him a shake. “When are you going to learn your manners?”

  The peppermint stick in Day’s mouth broke off and fell to the floor. His hands flailed at Cooper’s to no avail. His eyes had just begun to roll back in his head when Cooper let go.

  “I was just havin’ a bit of fun.” Day coughed. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

  “Have your fun somewhere else,” Jeb said. Day stumbled out the door.

  Martha came in the front as Mr. Cooper was leaving, then hurried to where Caroline sat at the cutting table adding a column of figures in the store ledger.

  “What was Lowell Day doing in here? Please tell me my Will kicked him out.”

  “Actually,” Caroline said, “he was apologizing for Friday night—after a fashion. And Will didn’t have a chance to kick him out, because Mr. Cooper did it for him.”

  “Did you say Day apologized?”

  “I think he did. At least as well as he knows how,” Caroline said. “But then in his next breath he said somethin’ unkind about Ella, so Mr. Cooper invited him to leave.”

  Martha scowled toward the back of the store and muttered, “I can appreciate Will’s trying to keep them out of the saloon, but—” Raucous laughter drowned out the rest of the sentence.

  Caroline decided to let the matter of Lowell Day lie. HARDY women don’t take every little thing personally. Lowell Day’s just a crass wrangler looking for a little fun. If he thinks he’s got my goat, it will just encourage him. Forget what lies behind. Press on with hope. She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew Mr. Cooper’s note.

  “He left this for Linney’s pa. I told him I’d do my best to see it got delivered. He said to tell you he unloaded the sewing machine and the trunk out back.”

  “Sewing machine? Trunk?”

  “He said something about thinking Linney and Mr. Ransom were going to ride back to the homestead with him tonight, but that it didn’t look like that was going to work out after all. So he unloaded Linney’s things—that’s what he called them—Linney’s things—and headed out. There’s a small box in the storeroom and a big trunk and a sewing machine just outside the back door.”

  Martha spoke to Will, who assured her he would “keep an eye on the boys,” then closed the store, locking the front door and pulling down the blinds. Motioning for Caroline to follow her toward the back room, Martha glanced first into the box Matthew had left behind when he charged Lucas Gray. Peering out the back door at the large polished trunk, she murmured, “Finally. He’s brought all of Katie’s things into town.” She glanced toward the upstairs. “I don’t know whether to bring Linney down or wait for Matthew.” She glanced at Caroline. “What do you think?”

  “Me?” Caroline put her hand to her chest. “Why, I have no idea.” She paused before blurting out the question that had been circling in her head all evening long. “Is Linney’s father given to violence? Is that the reason you’ve kept her with you? To keep her safe?”

  Martha’s mouth dropped open. “Matthew? Violent? Oh, my—no.” She shook her head. “Matthew’s always been one of the sweetest, gentlest—” She broke off. “It was wrong, what he did today. But it’s the culmination of years of tension between him and Lucas. They were rivals once for Katie’s hand. Today was just an unfortunate coincidence, really. Lucas only came into the store because he wanted to see you. He expected Linney to be busy at the dining hall serving cake. But then—” Martha sighed. “I can’t really explain any more than that. It’s something the two of them need to face and fix.”

  “I just appreciate knowing—for Linney’s sake—that outbursts like that aren’t commonplace.”

  “The only person Matthew’s ever struck out at before was himself. Over things from the past that should have been laid to rest long ago.” Martha smiled softly. “But I think—oh, I think and hope and pray—that after today, things will be better.” She paused. “I think he was planning on telling Linney that he’s moving into town. But none of that needs to be your concern. I don’t know how to thank you for all your help today. Obviously there will be a generous credit on a new ledger page for you.”

  Caroline followed Martha’s lead, happy to close the conversation about Mr. Matthew Ransom and his problems with Lucas Gray. “The orange fabric is gone,” she said, and told Martha what Mrs. Peterson had said about Alice Bailey’s not being the only skilled quilt maker around.

  Martha chuckled. “You know, men can jaw all they want about who rode the toughest bronco or who’s the best shot. They can’t hold a candle to the intensity with which Alice Bailey and Susan Peterson compete with needles and thread. It was pure genius bringing that horrible fabric to their attention. Mrs. Barton won’t appreciate my saying this, but part of me wishes you were staying in town, Caroline. For the store…for myself…and for Linney, who likes you very much.”

  The last thing on earth Caroline wanted to do was get mixed up in whatever was going on with the Ransoms. Linney was very sweet, but her father? A man who would charge across a store and knock a man flat was not someone Caroline cared to get to know any better, no matter how fast her heart might beat when either of those two men came into view. Following her emotions had nearly ruined her life once. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  “I’m fond of Linney, too. But we’ve got our plans all set, and it would be wrong for me to back out on my friends.” She g
rinned. “Besides, I’m just ornery enough to want to make the folks laughin’ behind our backs eat a little praline crow pie.”

  Wishing Martha a good night, Caroline crossed the expanse of prairie between the mercantile and the Immigrant House, enjoying the beautiful spring night. As she lingered on the back porch looking up at the starlit sky, the checker players exited the back door of the mercantile. It was only when he lit a match and it illuminated his face that Caroline realized Lowell Day had been waiting out back for just this moment. When she shrank back, hoping he hadn’t seen her, a voice sounded through the dark. “Now, Johnny, you know how partial I am to candy. Especially southern candy.”

  Caroline would have thought it only a crude joke between two crude men. Except for one thing. As they walked away, Lowell Day wished her a good evening. In a poor imitation of a southern drawl.

  It was real. As she stood outside the U.S. Land Office in Grand Island, Ella looked down at the document dated April 19, 1871. “Pursuant to the provisions of the Act of Congress, approved May 20, 1862, entitled An Act to Secure Homesteads to Actual Settlers on the Public Domain,” Ella Maria Sophia Romano Barton was entitled to a patent for the NW ¼ section 14 in Township 11 of Range 15 of Dawson County, Nebraska, comprising 160 acres.

  “Somehow,” Ruth said, “I think this document has a bit more promise than my membership certificate to the Ladies Emigration Society.” She reached over to give Jackson a one-armed hug. “We’ll have a home now. A home no one can tell us to leave.”

  Ella swallowed to keep back her own tears. Four pieces of paper and yet they represented so much more. Crops. Livestock. Calves. Hens and chicks and gardens and an everlasting amount of work. Perhaps she should feel overwhelmed, but at this moment all she felt was joy. Joy and hope and still more joy. She smiled until her face hurt.

  “We should frame them all,” Zita said. “One for each of the four corners of our home.”

  “Four Corners,” Ella said. “That’s it, Mama. That’s what we’ll call our place.” She glanced around at the others to get their reactions. Their home had a name.

  Sally waved her petition in the air even as she spoke toward the east. “Take that, Ray Gosset. Sally did amount to something after all.” She linked arms with Caroline and Zita and sang out, “Swing your partner and do-si-do, we’ve got land now and here we go—”

  Ruth and Ella held their hands high, forming an arbor for the others to dance through, and then everyone chanted as Jackson crouched down and did a ridiculous duck walk around them all. “Here comes the train, we’re ready to go—folks think we’re crazy, don’t you know—”

  “Yep, we’re crazy, that’s the truth—Sally, Zita, Caroline, and Ruth—”

  “April nineteenth is the day—six ladies and Jackson came to stay—”

  “Built Four Corners, saw things through—Nebraska’s where their dreams came true.”

  Had it really been only two days since they’d all performed that joy-crazed dance outside the land office over at Grand Island? Perched next to Jackson as he drove their supply-laden wagon toward the homestead, Ella pondered how hard it had been to wait while Will Haywood finished up other business so he could help them today. Oh, they had kept busy planning and packing and loading supplies, but Ella was thankful the wait was over. Now, as they trundled along, she glanced over at the second wagon in the small procession and thanked God anew for Will Haywood. Today he would help them drive stakes to designate the homesite. They would lay out a barn and corrals and a henhouse and a garden, and by the time the sun set on today, the Four Corners would be more than just a dream.

  As the wagon topped the last rise, the team threatened to bolt. Ella reached over and, putting her hands over Jackson’s, pulled back and hollered, “Whoa!” Jackson flushed with embarrassment. “It’s all right,” Ella said. “You’ll learn.” She nodded toward the rented team. “They don’t know your voice, and they can smell that cold spring water.”

  “They don’t know yours, either,” Jackson muttered. “But they slowed down.”

  “Well,” Ella said with a shrug, “horses from a livery—even ones as fine as Mr. Ermisch’s—can be more of a challenge. When we get our own team, they’ll get used to you.” Jackson looked doubtful. “They will,” she insisted, and smiled. “After all, you’ll be our main driver once we settle out here.” She motioned around them at the broad expanse of prairie.

  “Really?” Jackson sounded hopeful.

  Ella nodded. “Of course. It’s a man’s job, after all.” She didn’t like the idea of assigning jobs that way, but Jackson obviously needed a boost, and she was more than willing to give it. He was a good boy.

  Finally, they arrived at the new homesite. As Ella tied off the reins and climbed down, the other ladies—who’d followed the loaded wagon in a buggy—followed suit.

  Ruth spoke up. “Let’s pitch the tents first,” she said, and pointed toward the cottonwood tree. “Over there. Where we’ll have some shade in the afternoon.” She reached for one of the long rolls of canvas atop the loaded wagon. Sally stepped up to help.

  “You know how to pitch a tent?” Jackson sounded surprised.

  “Your father and I pitched many a tent in our day,” Ruth replied. She reached into the wagon and handed him a bundle of stakes and a sledgehammer. “Off we go.” She grinned. “Let’s see if we can get the first one pitched before Mr. Haywood and Ella get the parlor staked out.”

  While Ruth and Sally and Jackson worked to pitch what Ruth called a “Sibley tent,” Will Haywood and Ella paced off the rooms for the soddy. Will said that fourteen by sixteen was large for a central living area. Ella stood in the center of the future room and held her arms out, pointing first to the left and then to the right. “Front and back doors,” she said, “with a window on either side of each door. So we have plenty of light.”

  Once the stakes were driven at the corners and string attached to the stakes, Ella motioned for Caroline and Mama to “think about how things will be arranged in here,” while she and Will staked out the two bedroom wings. Each wing would measure ten by fourteen, giving just enough room to tuck a narrow bed into each corner with a trunk at the foot of each bed and a window in the wall between the headboards.

  “You might want more windows,” Will suggested. “Crosswinds are a good thing on a hot summer night. You can always hang a quilt up to keep the winter winds from blowing through.”

  Ella considered. That would mean four more windows, and windows weren’t cheap. She called a meeting of the minds, and the ladies decided that more windows would be worth the extra expense. And so it went all that day. Ella was clearly in charge, and yet she was careful to ask for advice and opinions. The only real disagreement came when Hettie insisted that she didn’t need a “high-hipped roof” above her loft.

  “Th-that’s going to cost way more in labor and shingles and all,” she said. “I don’t mind ducking down a little. Goodness, it’s only a sleeping loft. I don’t plan to live up there.”

  Ella glanced around at the others. Words weren’t necessary. Only nods. She looked at Will. “A hipped roof. A high one.” She glanced at Hettie. “It’s not just for you. It’s for all of us. We’ve come to stay. We build to give that message. To others, and to ourselves.”

  By day’s end, Four Corners boasted three Sibley tents—one for eating, one for sleeping, should the ladies decide to camp over at the homesite, and one for storage. Stakes and twine suggested a good-sized sod house, a small barn, and, much to Sally’s delight, a large henhouse. As the afternoon sun lengthened the shadows from the one tree within sight, Ella looked over the place, and for the first time, the enormity of what she had proposed threatened to override her enthusiasm. Could they do it? Could they really do it? Create a home and raise enough food to survive a winter out here?

  As the wagons and buggy made their way back toward town and the white of the three tents receded into the distance, Ella almost lost courage. Almost. But then Zita said something about how God w
as going to restore the years the locusts had eaten.

  “I hope you’re right, Mama,” Ella murmured.

  “Hope on. Hope ever,” Ruth said, from the buggy next to them.

  “Hope springs eternal,” Caroline offered.

  “Hope does not disappoint,” Hettie chimed in.

  “I hope Red and the hens like it out here,” Sally said. And everyone laughed.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.

  PROVERBS 27:6

  Jackson Dow, you’re cheating!” Linney jumped up, upsetting the checkerboard and sending checkers skittering across the general store floor. “I’m glad you’re moving onto that stupid homestead on Monday! Caroline won’t let you get away with cheating. Neither will Zita or Hettie or anyone else. It’ll be like having a dozen mothers, and you need every one of ’em to teach you right from wrong!”

  “I am not cheating!” Jackson shouted back.

  “Well, how else can you explain beating me four times in a row? My pa says I’m the best checker player he’s ever seen—besides Mr. McDonald, and no one ever beats Mr. McDonald.”

  Jackson glowered. “Well, maybe your pa was just being nice and letting you win! Or maybe I’m just better than you. Did you ever stop to think somebody might actually be better than you at something?!”

  “Are you calling my pa a liar?”

  Caroline, who’d been helping Martha check things off the list of provisions the women were planning to take to the homestead on Monday, decided it was time to intervene. “Hey, you two.” She laid her pencil down and walked to the back of the store. “First of all, Jackson, a gentleman doesn’t gloat when he wins a game. He is gracious whether he wins or loses.” Then she turned to Linney. “And, Linney. Your pa isn’t a liar, and Jackson didn’t say he was. On the other hand, he does dote on you, so perhaps he doesn’t try as hard to win as he might.”