Brides of Iowa

by Stevens, Connie;

  Chapter 2

  Tessa fought her way through the grogginess. As she struggled to sit up, the ragged edges of sleep fell away, and she realized two things: It was daylight, and she didn’t know where she was.

  Needles of panic pricked her stomach. Her glance skittered around the simple furnishings in the room, from the clean, white curtain on the window to the closed door. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together, Tessa extracted a sense of time and place. She remembered now. That nice lady who ran the boardinghouse tried to get her to eat something and then invited her to lie down and rest.

  Along with the understanding of her surroundings came the resurgence of grief. The ache blew through her like a searing-hot prairie wind, and a sob escaped her tight throat.

  She almost didn’t hear the soft tap on the door. The boardinghouse lady poked her head in. The woman reminded Tessa of a schoolmarm with her severely pinned, iron-gray hair and creases around her eyes. Tessa guessed the woman either laughed a lot or frowned a lot.

  “I thought I heard you crying, poor thing.” The woman came into the room. Tessa’s dress hung over her arm. “You were so exhausted I didn’t have the heart to wake you last night for supper. You needed to sleep.”

  Last night? Supper? Bright sunlight streamed in the window.

  The woman draped the dress across the foot of the bed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I washed out your dress. There’s fresh water in the pitcher, dear, and I saved you some breakfast.”

  Confusion fought with grief for first place in Tessa’s mind. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be stupid, but what time is it?”

  The woman lifted the dainty watch pinned to her bodice. “It’s almost ten thirty. You take your time freshening up.” A soft smile deepened the creases in her face as she turned to leave.

  Tessa scrambled from the bed and realized she was wearing only her chemise. She snatched up the dress and held it in front of her. “Uh, Mrs.… uh, ma’am, how long have I been here?”

  “I’m Pearl Dunnigan, dear. We met yesterday, but I don’t blame you for not remembering. After the funeral, you swallowed a few sips of tea before you collapsed on that bed, and you’ve been asleep ever since.”

  Tessa gasped. Papa would be furious. Heedless of Mrs. Dunnigan standing there, she lowered the dress and stepped into it. “Mrs. Dunnigan, I’m so sorry. I had no right to stay here. I told the preacher I had no money—”

  Mrs. Dunnigan held her hand up. “It’s perfectly all right, dear. You needed a quiet place to rest. Now come and eat something.”

  “But my father will—”

  The woman’s expression changed from sunny to stormy in an instant. “Your father will just have to wait a few more minutes.” She clucked her tongue. “His behavior yesterday was deplorable. And such vile language! Didn’t even attend his own wife’s funeral, and the way he treated you … tsk-tsk.”

  As if suddenly realizing her words might be offensive, the woman’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Well, anyway, come eat some breakfast. I think there’s still some apple butter left.” She slipped out the door.

  Tessa’s fingers fumbled with the buttons down the front of her dress. She pulled on her shoes—Mama’s shoes, actually. Mama told her to wear them a couple of months ago when her own were beyond repair. A simple pair of secondhand shoes, certainly not much to look at, but tangible proof of the footsteps Mama left for her to follow.

  After a quick washing of her face and arms, she pulled her hair back and secured it with a frayed scrap of old ribbon. How might she excuse herself and hurry back to the wagon without appearing ungrateful? She couldn’t, in good conscience, take advantage of Mrs. Dunnigan’s generosity and accept food without paying for it.

  She followed the heavenly mingled fragrances of coffee, bacon, and biscuits and found the kitchen.

  Mrs. Dunnigan turned from the stove when Tessa entered. “Here, dear, you sit down while I pour you some coffee.” She reached for the coffeepot. “How about some bacon and eggs?”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m not hungry.” She regretted the lie. “You’ve been so kind. I just wish I could pay you for your trouble.”

  Mrs. Dunnigan set a mug of coffee in front of her. “You need to eat something, child.”

  Tessa took several tentative sips of the steaming brew. The aroma of breakfast made her stomach growl, but she set her jaw and stiffened her spine against the temptation. The overriding fear of her father’s wrath bullied every other thought—her grief as well as her hunger—out of the way. Despite Mrs. Dunnigan’s kindness, she couldn’t linger at the woman’s table.

  She took one more sip of coffee and stood. “Thank you, ma’am, for everything. You’ve been more than kind, but Papa will be furious if he’s had to wait for me.”

  Mrs. Dunnigan’s eyebrows dipped in disagreement, but she simply nodded and patted Tessa’s shoulder. “All right, dear. You take care now. And I’m so sorry about your mother.”

  The lump in Tessa’s throat prevented her reply, so she forced a smile and returned the woman’s nod. She slipped out the door and scurried down the boardwalk, past the livery to the giant elm tree at the edge of town where Papa left the wagon yesterday—or was it the day before?

  She arrived at the place beneath the giant elm tree, but the only evidence of the wagon’s presence was the trunk Tessa shared with her mother, Mama’s treasured hand-carved cabinet, and a crate containing a crude assortment of household items strewed in the bushes.

  Tessa’s feet froze in place as she stared at the belongings littering the ground. Beside them, a set of wagon tracks led away from town in a westerly direction. She forced her eyes to cast a wide search of the area. Reality laughed in her face. Papa dumped everything he didn’t want or need off the tailgate and left without her. He’d discarded her like a piece of unwanted baggage.

  She sank down in the dirt beside the trunk. Her mother’s cabinet lay sideways in front of her, one door askew. A cracked teacup, a broken crock, Mama’s apron—evidences of a meager existence, tossed aside in the dust. Tessa picked up each item by turn, wiped it clean, and cradled it in her lap. Papa may have viewed these things as worthless and unnecessary, but they belonged to Mama. They were priceless.

  She employed some muscle and set the cabinet upright, noticing that the collision with the ground had broken one of the hinges. How could Papa treat Mama’s cherished cabinet with such carelessness?

  Placing each item exactly as Mama kept them in the cabinet, she let her hand linger on each one. Caring for her mother’s things was a privilege.

  When she opened the opposite cabinet door, she saw Mama’s Bible wedged into one corner. She withdrew it and traced the edge of the worn leather cover with her finger. Mama taught her to believe and pray from the time she was a young child, but a troubling thought now clouded her mind. Mama always said God would never forsake them. Yet here she sat, in a barren patch of dirt, with nothing more than a handful of belongings and a bewildered heart full of memories. Was this the way God cared for His children? Leaving them alone in the midst of strangers?

  She pressed the Bible against her chest. “Mama, I miss you so much. Papa’s left me, too. I wish you could tell me what to do.”

  The tears she’d held back for the last two days finally released as her grief and fear sought expression. She fell on her face beside the cabinet, clinging to the Bible and sobbing into Mama’s apron. The surrounding trees and underbrush afforded enough privacy to erase any fear of onlookers, and she no longer cared to control the emotions she’d kept hidden far too long.

  By the time her sorrow was spent, her eyes burned and raspiness grated her throat. She lay on the ground hugging the Bible and apron for a time. There was no hurry. She had no place to go. Perhaps if she stayed right here, God might decide to reach down and take her, too.

  After an undetermined time, Tessa pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned against the trunk. If wishes could undo circumstances, she’d wish enough to erase her entire life
, but whims didn’t affect reality. She could choose to sit under this elm tree and die, or she could choose to survive.

  The memory of Mama’s voice whispering encouragement and telling her how precious she was despite Papa’s tirades invaded her heart. Mama didn’t choose to die. She didn’t give up. She gave out, but not until she’d fought as hard as she could. Tessa could do no less.

  Carefully brushing the dirt from Mama’s Bible, she returned it to the cabinet and tucked the apron into the trunk. She dug past the few articles of worn clothing and located a small leather pouch buried at the bottom of the trunk. It contained a few coins Mama managed to keep hidden from Papa. Tessa untied the strings and dumped the contents into her hand. A pitiful amount of money, but it was enough to buy a handful of crackers and a bit of cheese.

  Tessa rose and brushed off her skirt. She walked to the livery watering trough where she dashed some water in her face and smoothed her hair. After she retied the old ribbon holding her hair away from her face, she headed down the street looking for a general store.

  She passed a half dozen buildings, some freshly painted, others weatherworn, until she came to Maxwell’s Mercantile. The place looked similar to the store where she and Mama traded back home. The brick front encased a large window displaying assorted kitchenware and household items. Barrels of apples, milk cans, and brooms lined the boardwalk outside. A neatly lettered sign proclaiming the store’s name hung overhead. Double doors with slightly chipped green paint stood open in a friendly invitation.

  She stepped inside. The storekeeper, his back turned, measured coffee beans into the large grinder behind the counter. Two ladies chatted as they examined yard goods. Nobody noticed her, so she wandered through the store and sniffed the aroma of freshly ground coffee. The storekeeper spoke to his customers, but Tessa paid no attention as she fingered the cuff of a blue calico dress hanging next to a small display of bonnets.

  “May I help you?”

  Tessa jumped at the nearness of the voice, spun around, and came face-to-face with the man who’d handed her the wildflowers yesterday. Surprise registered on the man’s face as well. What was his name? Her mind was too muddled to think.

  “Your name’s Tessa, isn’t it?”

  Tessa nodded. She forced words past her lips. “Yes sir.”

  A wide smile filled his face. “It’s Gideon. What can I get for you today, Tessa?”

  Tessa reached into her skirt pocket and extracted a nickel. “Is this enough to buy some crackers and cheese?”

  Gideon’s gaze traveled to the coin in her hand. His eyebrows lifted, and Tessa could only guess what he must be thinking. He crossed to the counter and pulled layers of cheesecloth away from a large, waxed round of cheese. With a deft motion, he cut a generous wedge, too generous to cost only five cents. He wrapped the cheese in paper then scooped a handful of crackers into a paper bag. “Here you go.” Gideon slid her purchase across the counter.

  She laid her nickel beside the paper-wrapped cheese. “Thank you.”

  “I want to extend my condolences again for the loss of your mother.”

  The tears that consumed her earlier threatened again. She pressed her lips together and drew in a tight breath to deny any show of emotion in this public place.

  Another customer entered the store, and Gideon greeted the woman politely. He glanced about the store. “Is your father with you?”

  The mere mention of Papa set her stomach spinning. Fear and grief collided in her chest. Should she tell Gideon her father had up and left her? What kind of explanation could she give? That she was worthless and her father had no use for her? That she was alone and had no idea how she was going to survive? “No, he must have had something else to do.”

  “So where are you folks from, and where are you headed?”

  She wasn’t headed anywhere—now. Harsh truth accosted her, but courtesy required she answer Gideon. “Papa had a farm back in Indiana. But he didn’t like being a farmer.”

  “Indiana, huh? Good farm country there. Why didn’t your pa want to farm?”

  “Work was too hard, I guess. He raised hogs and grew corn, but he said he couldn’t make enough money to keep body and soul together.”

  Gideon nodded like he understood. “Farming isn’t easy, and that’s a fact. Your crop can depend on a lot of things—weather, insects, blight. Anything can turn a harvest sour no matter how hard a man works.”

  Tessa felt heat crawling up her neck. Papa failed to turn a decent profit because he drank more than he worked the fields or cared for the pigs. He’d charged her with the animals’ care and railed at her when the porkers brought a lower than expected price. How could she tell Gideon the embarrassing truth?

  “Has your pa come west to try farming here in Iowa?”

  She didn’t know why Gideon was interested, but she didn’t wish to be rude. “Papa heard some men talking about gold strikes in the Black Hills country. He figured he could get rich if we went there and dug for gold.”

  Gideon’s brows dipped into a V. “A few folks pulled some gold out of there several years back, but not many got rich. There’s been no report of gold strikes up there for a long time. Maybe the man at the land office can give your pa information about farmland hereabouts. Lots of farmers here in Iowa have harvested bountiful crops of corn and wheat, and for the past several years, there’s been a lot of farmers raising porkers and cattle, too. Your pa could do well here.”

  If Papa could’ve stayed away from the bottle long enough to devote time and energy to their farm, they’d still be in Indiana. Maybe Mama would still be alive. Instead he’d decided to chase a harebrained dream of getting rich, while putting Mama through the rigors of traveling to goldfields that were nothing more than a mirage. Tears burned their way to the surface and spilled over. Her throat convulsed when she tried to swallow back the sobs.

  Gideon’s eyes widened, and his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, Tessa. I didn’t mean to—”

  Tessa didn’t wait to hear any more. She ran out the door, mortified at her lack of control in front of Gideon.

  She picked up her skirts and escaped back to the seclusion of the elm tree and dropped down beside the trunk, her chest heaving more from anger at Papa and shame over her tears than from running. At least she didn’t have to admit Papa had abandoned her. If Gideon knew what a worthless person she was, he likely wouldn’t be so kind to her.

  Despite her humiliation, her stomach still complained of its emptiness. She unwrapped the hunk of cheese and broke off a few small bits. It wouldn’t do to eat too much. The cheese and crackers would have to feed her for a few days, at least until she could find employment.

  She nibbled slowly to stretch out her mealtime as long as possible. She closed her eyes and imagined the fragrance of warm yeast bread fresh from the oven and savory roast beef with tender potatoes and carrots. If she played this game of imagination each time she ate a bit of cracker or cheese, her mind might convince her she wasn’t as hungry as she thought.

  The lengthening afternoon shadows indicated there wasn’t much daylight left. She couldn’t impose on Mrs. Dunnigan again. The canopy of branches overhead would be her roof tonight, and the underbrush would serve as her walls.

  Dread washed over her at the prospect of spending the night outside and alone, at the mercy of whomever and whatever might be lurking in the darkness. But if Mama was right, God would spend the night with her.

  Chapter 3

  Tessa grunted as she pushed Mama’s cabinet between the fat tree trunk and a dense juniper. Tangled underbrush snagged her sleeve as she dragged the crate across a patch of thorny weeds. The heavier trunk required all her strength to shove into a position where the shadows of the big tree and the thick juniper and yew bushes concealed it from anyone who happened by.

  Straightening, she scrutinized her hiding place. Anyone milling around the livery at the edge of town was unlikely to see her through the brush. It was the best she could do.

  The descendin
g sun marked the signal for most of the businesses in town to close their doors. Most, but not all. Down the main street at the center of town, the Willow Creek Hotel with its fine brick facade attracted a steady stream of people coming and going.

  Boisterous clamor increased at the saloon. A shudder rippled through her when she imagined the amount of whiskey consumed there each night and its effect on the families of the men who patronized the place.

  Tessa wrapped the remains of her dinner in the store paper. When she opened the door of Mama’s cabinet to tuck her provisions into a safe place, the Bible she’d hugged earlier begged to be picked up. Why, she didn’t know. What could God possibly have to say to her? Still, perhaps reading the same words Mama read might offer comfort.

  She extracted a tattered quilt pieced from flour sack scraps from the trunk and arranged a makeshift pallet under the broad limbs of the elm. She peered around the juniper boughs, searching for signs of snakes then made herself as comfortable as possible and opened the Bible. The waning light fell on the pages of the Psalms. Mama’s favorites were dog-eared and underlined. Extra marks by the verses of Psalm 27 indicated Mama found solace in them.

  With the book positioned to use all the light available, she began to read what her mother found comforting. One verse spoke of hiding her in the time of trouble. Did that mean God would conceal her from prying eyes during the night? She read another verse.

  “Leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.”

  Was God aware that she was alone and frightened, hiding in the bushes like some kind of animal? Did He know about the fear knotting her stomach as the noise from the saloon built to a raucous din? In the dim glow of the final ray of light, she held up the book and squinted at the next verse.

  “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.”