Love Blooms in Winter

by Lori Copeland

  The dirty, uncivilized drovers who frequented the mercantile were a perfect example. Those men were rowdy, crude, and rude. Years ago Dwadlo closed the saloon in hopes of discouraging the cattlemen’s business, but the move hurt the town’s commerce, so last year a nearby farmer, with little concern for his community, opened a smaller version of the establishment on the outskirts of town and the drovers returned. Mae said that they were giving in to sin, but others argued that there was a penny to be made and why shouldn’t Dwadlo reap the windfall?

  Shaking her head, Mae’s mind skipped to Pauline’s dilemma. She would write a letter to Mr. Curtis before going to bed tonight and send it with the morning mail. What would she do if it never reached him? He could be elderly—or in worse shape than Pauline. Maybe even dead. Violence still reigned in these parts. Masked men robbed trains, and ruthless thieves overtook stagecoaches. Honestly. What was this world coming to? In order to err on the side of certainty, if she didn’t hear anything in a month from Mr. Curtis, a second letter would definitely be in order.

  She could only pray that Tom Curtis was a staunch man, and that his family’s welfare would take precedence in this matter.

  Yawning, she set her knitting needles aside and went to find pen and paper.

  “Is there a Mr. Tom Curtis here?”

  Tom glanced up to see the Chicago & North Western Railway mail clerk grinning at him.

  “You back from your trip, Tom?”

  “Just back.”

  “Good to see ya.” The black boy dropped a letter on Tom’s desk and walked on, whistling.

  “Thanks, Harvey.” Hopefully Tom would be able to stay home until spring. But with Christmas coming in a few weeks and with C&NW adding track at the rate of multiplying rabbits, he couldn’t be sure.

  In ’79 they started a line from Minnesota and South Dakota, and then they platted the town sites in between. Every seven to ten miles tracks started to appear, and rival companies joined the march of railroad lines strung out like dominoes crisscrossing the states.

  Tom reached for the letter and noted that the address was written in feminine cursive. He never received personal mail. Anything addressed to him came from the railroad office or was an occasional equipment sales notice. Glancing at the cancellation mark on the stamp, he saw that it came from Dwadlo, North Dakota. Probably someone wanting to sell the railroad land rights.

  Dear Mr. Curtis,

  I am writing in regards to your cousin or aunt Pauline Wilson—I presume she is a relation—and her immediate welfare. She is quite elderly now and needs family attention. While I check on her often, I cannot give her the care she needs. Please be advised that her mental state is not always clear. In spite of that, she is a wise and wonderful woman whom I am certain you care for very deeply.

  Please come as soon as possible for your dear cousin—or possibly aunt. I’m sorry to have to inform you that she is rapidly failing.

  Warmest regards,

  Mae Wilkey

  Wilkey. He mulled the name around in his mind. Pauline Wilson? Turning the fancy stationary over, he frowned. Aunt Pauline? Cousin Pauline? He shook his head. He’d been on his own for so long he’d lost track of family. His mother and father had died years ago. He’d had an older sister in Wyoming, but she passed last year. He glanced at the paper. Wilson. Pauline.

  Great-Aunt Pauline Wilson?

  Bringing his hand to his chin, he repeated out loud. “Aunt Pauline. Cousin Pauline. Seems like there was a cousin, Pearl, in the family. Or was it Prudence? Patricia?”

  Picking up the envelope, he studied the writing. Who was Mae Wilkey? His eyes focused on the postmark again. Dwadlo. C&NW had track through there—he knew that because he’d seen the name on the roster over the years. Had he ever been there? The name didn’t ring a bell, but then he didn’t recall every town he’d visited in the sixteen years he’d been with the railroad. There’d been too many.

  Setting the letter aside, he dismissed the matter. This Wilkey woman had her wires crossed. He certainly didn’t have relatives in North Dakota.

  Denial came easy in daylight. Work occupied his time and thoughts for the rest of the day, but later that night it was harder to dismiss the odd inquiry. When he turned out the lantern and stared at the dark ceiling in his rented room at Bessie Hellman’s Boarding Establishment, where he had a soft bed, meals, and laundry service for six dollars a week, the letter wasn’t as easy to forget. Somehow someone must have come across his name and mistook him for distant kin to this Pauline. He mentally searched each side of the family again, and to his knowledge there wasn’t a Curtis or Holland still alive.

  The letter had to be a prank. That thought nearly made him slap his forehead. Of course. One of his fellow coworkers was playing a joke on him. The railroad crew was a crazy bunch—Harvey probably promoted the trick. Or Jack Billings. Jack was a real cutup, and his brain could easily come up with a plot that would make Tom run off to North Dakota in search of a mysterious aunt who didn’t exist. Relief filled him. A trick. Jack was paying him back for the time he’d replaced roast beef sandwiches with tar-filled ones in his lunch bucket. Chuckling, Tom rolled on his back, plotting revenge.

  Tomorrow morning, without Jack noticing, he was going to tape a sign on his back that said “Kick Me.” The grin widened. He should know Jack would get him back. The crew was probably laughing, knowing Tom would be racking his brain to figure out where this mysterious “kin” came from.

  Blockheads.

  Four

  When the boisterous Lil Jenkins came to town, everyone in Dwadlo heard her. Mae’s best friend had a small spread north of town; nothing impressive except for her land. Her folks left her a hundred prime acres of fertile grass with deep springs and rolling countryside, but Lil didn’t raise cattle. She raised hogs. Big black-and-red sows weighing upward of a thousand pounds brought a pretty market price. The animals provided Lil with more than ham and bacon. A place in Wisconsin bought her stock to render the fat into lard for baking and frying and to make lye soap for simple home cleaning tasks.

  Lil worked hard to make her farm profitable as she was getting up in years. She’d be twenty-eight soon.

  In fact, Dwadlo had two old maids, Lil being one and Mae the other. The former still had a ray of hope that she would find a man who loved the smell of hogs, but the latter was beginning to wonder if she would ever get a proposal from the man who was steadily seeing her.

  Lil pulled her wagon to a stop in front of the General Store and set the hand brake.

  Mae noted her arrival and stepped out of the store to meet her. The two embraced warmly. As usual, Lil smelled like her stock. “Where have you been?” Mae accused. “It’s been three weeks since you were in.”

  “I had a couple of sows down. Had to stay around to keep ’em alive.” Arms around each other’s waists, the women went into the store to get out of the cold. “Got any mail for me?”

  “Nary a thing.” Lil always asked, and Mae always had the same response. Truth was, as long as Mae had worked at the post office there’d never been any correspondence for Lil. If Mae ever went on a trip, she’d write Lil a long letter and send pictures. Lots of pictures of foreign places. Lil would like that.

  Lil opened the pickle barrel and helped herself.

  “You’d better not let Dale see you,” Mae warned. Lately the owner was getting persnickety. Winter was barely here and profits were down. Folks accustomed to raiding the barrel without paying were abruptly cut off last month from eating Dale’s pickles for free.

  Shrugging, Lil asked, “What’s been going on?”

  “Nothing much.” Mae briefly explained about Pauline and how she’d managed to locate a Tom Curtis—Pauline’s kin, she hoped. She had to admit that she was proud of her accomplishment and slept better lately knowing help would come.

  “You wrote him a letter?”

  Nodding, Mae took the list Lil handed her and moved about the store, filling the order. “You want Cooper’s Best or regular fl
our?”

  “You’re carrying two kinds now?”

  “Dale thought the women might enjoy having a choice.”

  “How is ol’ Dale? Loud as ever?”

  “Now, Lil. Dale is gifted, and you shouldn’t make fun of him.”

  “If he’s so ‘gifted,’ how come he never married?”

  “How come we’ve never married?”

  “I ain’t ever been asked.”

  Mae sighed. “Me neither. I suppose Dale never found a woman he wanted to spend his life with.” She glanced up and smiled. “Cooper’s Best is a penny more a pound. Comes from a new place in Humboldt, Nebraska. Supposed to be real fine.”

  “I’ll take the usual. Flour’s flour.” Lil browsed the store as she finished her snack. “Have you heard anything back from this Curtis feller?”

  “It’s too soon.” Mae closed the sugar bin. “I just sent the letter last week.”

  “Where’s it going?”

  “Chicago.”

  Lil whistled. “That far?”

  “That’s why I’m not concerned about hearing back yet.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Pausing, Mae motioned to the sitting area in front of the mail cage. “Let’s rest and chat a spell.”

  As the women settled on the small bench, Mae remembered her manners. “Would you like a root beer?”

  Lil gaped at her. “You know I don’t drink the likes.”

  “It’s not saloon beer,” Mae assured her. “And it’s been around a long time, but we’re just now getting some in. Remember when Dale went off to Philadelphia last year?”

  “How could I forget? He couldn’t talk about much else for months.”

  “Well, he was talking to a man there who bottles the drink, and Dale told him it was delicious. The man promised he would send Dale a sample. Two weeks ago five cases of the stuff arrived, and I must say I love it. Tastes like sarsaparilla but better.”

  “Sarsaparilla’s fine. Why mess with a good thing?”

  “I don’t know. Progress?”

  “All right, I’ll try a bottle.”

  Mae went to fetch two bottles from a cooler filled with chunked ice. “You’re lucky that you’ve come today. This stuff is selling so quickly we’ll be out soon.”

  Lil accepted the ice-cold bottle with Hires Root Beer written on the label. “This will never go over. Women won’t buy anything that has the name ‘beer’ on it.” She took a long swig. Then another, her eyes brightening. “Hot dog!” She burped.

  “Isn’t it lovely? I’ve had three already.” Mae took a long drink of the refreshing beverage.

  Lowering the bottle, Lil frowned. “What’s in this stuff?”

  Mae rose and scurried around the counter to locate the letter that arrived with the bottles. She read, “Allspice, birch bark, coriander, juniper, ginger, wintergreen, hops—”

  “What’s hops?”

  “Um…not sure, but it’s delicious.” She continued. “Burdock root, dandelion root, spikenard, pipsissewa—”

  “Don’t have any idea what that is, but everyone knows what sarsaparilla is: spicewood, wild cherry bark, yellow dock, prickly ash bark, sassafras root, vanilla bean, dog grass, molasses, and licorice.” Lil paused and peered down the hole of her half empty bottle. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Nonsense.” Mae took another swig and then said, “Anyone who raises hogs can enjoy a root beer. Drink up! It’s wonderful. Dale ordered ten more cases.”

  Setting her bottle aside, Lil stood up to stretch. “My hogs don’t have stuff like ‘pipsissewa’ in them. I don’t drink nothin’ I cain’t pronounce.” She added a tin of salt to her order. “About Pauline’s kin…”

  “Tom Curtis.”

  “You’re sure he’s family? I never heard her speak about having relatives.”

  “As sure as I can be.” Mae laid a tin of ointment on the counter. “But I wouldn’t stake my life on it. I found Mr. Curtis’ name and address in Pauline’s desk drawer. I wouldn’t think he would be anyone other than kin. Pauline has never been out of Dwadlo. I doubt she’d know anyone outside of here but family.”

  “Still…” Lil shook her head. “How do you know you’re not inviting trouble into town? What if this Curtis fellow is someone we’d just as soon not have around?” She peered out the front window. “Mae?”

  “Yes?

  “Are Pauline’s dogs supposed to have her couch cushion in the front yard?”

  “No. Have they pulled one out of the house again?” Outside the window feathers spiraled like heavy snow. Heaving a sigh, Mae wiped her hands on a cloth. “Those animals. They are driving me nuts.”

  “Better she get herself a good hog. I keep a couple tied around my front door to scare off the varmints and mice.”

  “The last thing Pauline needs is a hog.”

  “Don’t be so fast to criticize them. My old sows kill off the snakes, and that keeps me happy.” Lil leaned closer to the windowpane. “Might as well forget about the cushion. There ain’t anything left.” She stepped away and looked through a pile of men’s shirts. “What’d you say this Curtis fellow does?”

  “I don’t know. The scrap of paper just had his name and address on it. I don’t expect he’ll stay around long. I imagine he’ll take Pauline and go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Back to Chicago, I suppose. I know nothing about him.” Mae finished boxing the order and turned to face her friend. “If Mr. Curtis arrives, Pauline will no longer be my concern.”

  “Maybe, but what if he doesn’t want to take her? Ever consider that?”

  “Of course I’ve thought of it.” The news that he possibly had an ailing aunt who needed immediate care would most likely take him by surprise, but Mae was hoping for the best.

  Leaning on the counter, Lil grew pensive. “I’d take her if I could.”

  “I know you would.” Lil was a kind soul who would give anyone in need the shirt off her back, but her place had only one room and was miles from civilization. Pauline would die of loneliness.

  The two returned to the bench and spent the next half hour catching up on news—of which there was very little.

  “Guess Jake hasn’t proposed yet.”

  “Not yet, but he will.”

  “You’ve been dating the man six years, Mae. How long does it take to set up a law firm?”

  “The law firm is running fine now. Jake’s rebuilding his finances. It won’t take long.” She smiled. “Are you going to wear a dress to my wedding?”

  Lil shook her head. “I don’t fancy up, missy, even for you.”

  “You’ll have to. You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

  “I’ll wear overalls.”

  “No.”

  Lil flashed a mischievous grin. “I’d be willing to tie a pink ribbon in my hair.”

  “No.” Leaning back, Mae closed her eyes. “You’ll wear soft yellow. And I’ll carry a bouquet of wild daisies. It’ll be the finest day Dwadlo has ever celebrated.”

  “All we’ll need is a willing groom.”

  Oh, Jake would be willing. Six years was beginning to stretch Mae’s endurance, but she was sure God would reward her patience. “Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation; continuing instant in prayer.” How many times over the years had she found comfort in that particular verse from the twelfth chapter of the book of Romans?

  “What about you, my dear friend?” Mae sat up to study Lil. She was rough around the edges, but she had a heart of gold. Other than Jake, there was only one other eligible male in these parts, and that was Fisk Jester. However, he didn’t like Lil for the simple fact that she enjoyed arguing with him. Fisk lost his wife some eight months ago, and Isabelle Jester never said a bad word to anyone, least of all Fisk. He was also ten years older than Lil and independent as all get out, and he didn’t appear to need anybody but his memorialized Isabelle.

  “What about me?” Lil asked.

  “You’re always after me to marry. When do you intend t
o find the love of your life? I don’t need to remind you that we both have a birthday coming up next summer, and neither of us is a spring chicken.”

  “Speak for yourself! Ain’t nothing wrong with my chickenhood.”

  “That isn’t a word.”

  “So? It is now.”

  Sniffing the air delicately, Mae said, “There is one thing you could do to better your chances of landing a man. You could use a good scrubbing. Dale has some lovely rose-scented soap you could purchase—”

  “I ain’t buying any of your rose-scented stuff with my hard-earned money, but what I could use less of are your opinions, Miss Mae Wilkey. I don’t intend to go waltzing around here smelling like a flower, thank you.”

  “Don’t know why not. It would suit your mood well.” Mae stood up, brushing wrinkles out of her skirt. “I have a ton of work to do. Dale is feeling poorly, so he’s resting in the back.” The store owner ordinarily worked through any ache or pain, but today he’d taken to his bed.

  Mae finished up Lil’s order and then trailed the hog farmer on her way out of the store. “Do you plan to attend Joanne’s tea this Saturday?”

  “Way over in Pine Grove?”

  “You’ll be missing a lot of fun.” Mae opened the door, smiling. “Fisk is planning on being there.”

  Lil’s nose lifted. “All the more reason to skip the event.” She walked through the door without a backward glance.

  “Huh.” Mae watched her friend store the goods in the back of the wagon with stiff, sharp movements. Mae’s remarks had obviously riled her, but they were true. “She’s never going to get a man with that attitude.”

  Five

  A month later a second letter landed on Tom’s desk. He saw the North Dakota stamp and snorted. This time he was ready for the pranksters. “Big laugh, Harvey. I’m on to you wiseacres. Who put you up to this? Jack?” Jack was still sore about the “Kick Me” sign Tom had taped on his back, yet it was worth the look on his face when someone had taken full advantage of the advice. He didn’t discover why he’d had so many swift jars to his backside until almost noon that day.