“That’s Salton. And Salt Creek.” Lark nodded to the creek flowing to the east of them. “The salt flats must be that way. Let’s make camp here. I’ll head into town in the morning.”
And find that attorney Anders had written them about. Lord, are we close to getting our land? The thought lent wings as she unyoked the oxen and hobbled them to graze.
Del approached, Mikael snug in his sling against her, and shaded her eyes against the setting sun. “Interesting landscape. So different from most waterways. There’s fewer trees.”
“The salt in the water, probably.” Lark bent to examine the plant growth along the creek bank. “Look at these. They’re kind of like asters.” She caressed the purple blooms with her fingertips.
Dr. Brownsville approached, Forsythia leaning on his arm. Though still weak, her smile made Lark’s heart sing. The extra week of rest had helped, and though it had taken three days to get to Salton, traveling slowly, Sythia didn’t look any the worse for wear.
“What a beautiful sunset.” Forsythia sighed. “It’s so nice to see something outside the canvas cover again.”
The doctor moved his hand to cover hers on his arm, a tender gesture that quickened Lark’s heart.
“Let’s start supper.” Del gave Lark and Lilac a significant look and nodded toward the campsite.
“What are we going to do about that?” Lark whispered, following her sisters. Behind them, the doctor and Forsythia talked in low tones under the gathering dusk.
“What?”
“Them.”
“I think it’s lovely, don’t you?” Lilac scooped Sofie up and kissed her cheek, which was now filling out a bit with good food and milk.
“But he’s only just lost his wife. It seems too soon.”
Del stirred cornmeal and flour for a quick corn pone. “Perhaps. But sometimes these things happen.”
“Maybe.” Lord, I just don’t want my sister to get hurt.
The next morning, Lark saddled Starbright to head into Salton.
“Could you use some company?” The doctor looked up at her from under his best hat.
“I—don’t think so.” She didn’t mean to be rude, but the lawyer would be expecting Miss Larkspur Nielsen, and she wasn’t ready for that conversation in front of the doctor. Though they’d need to let him in on the secret sometime, the way things were looking. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on everyone in the camp.”
He stepped back and nodded politely, though perhaps wondering why she suddenly considered her sisters helpless females.
Lark clicked her tongue and nudged Starbright toward the town, the morning sun warm on her shoulders. Lord, help me find this man. And guide us to the place you have for us.
Salton wasn’t much of a town, but several shops, a mercantile, a bank, and two saloons lined the main dirt road, with a church at the end. Lark tied up Starbright in what seemed to be the general area of the address Anders had sent and strode along the raised wooden sidewalk, its heavy planks foreign beneath her boots after weeks on the trail.
Here—this should be it. Anders’s letter in hand, she scanned the unassuming shop front. A small lettered sign in the window read Henry P. Caldwell, Attorney-at-Law.
Here we go, Lord. She pushed open the door, jingling a friendly bell.
“Good morning.” A man with dark sideburns and spectacles looked up from behind a large wooden desk. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so, sir.” Lark stepped forward, her palms suddenly sweaty. “I believe you know my brother, Anders Nielsen. He suggested I come see you about some land a homesteader had for sale.”
“Anders Nielsen, yes.” Mr. Caldwell removed his spectacles and studied her. “But who would you be?”
“Clark—that is, Larkspur.” Lark swallowed and removed her hat. “Miss Larkspur Nielsen, sir.” How do I explain this whole morass?
The attorney’s brows rose, and he pushed to his feet. “Well, that explains my surprise. Anders told me his sister would be coming to see me. He failed to mention she would bear more resemblance to a brother.” He limped forward and extended his hand. “Please have a seat, Miss Nielsen.”
“Thank you, sir.” With that revelation out of the way, Lark breathed a bit easier. She sank into the upholstered chair Caldwell indicated. “I hope you aren’t too shocked.”
“It takes a good deal to shock an old soldier like me.” The attorney eased back into his own chair with a faint groan. “Forgive me. Minié ball took off my leg at the Battle of Franklin. A true blessing, these prosthetic limbs, but never quite the same as God’s original. But you don’t need to hear all that.” He leaned back and smiled. “So, if I may ask, why the”—he waved a hand toward her—“disguise?”
“Safety, sir. We thought it best to appear as a man traveling with his sisters, rather than as four women alone. I did the same when I went to get Anders out of that prison camp.”
“Of course. Now I remember Anders mentioning that part of the story.” Caldwell steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin. “He was one of the men in my company, you know, taken prisoner just after I was wounded. I blamed myself, that I wasn’t there to protect my men as an officer should be. Thank God you got him out of that place.”
“We do. Every day.”
“So.” He slapped his hand on the desk. “You’re here about land, not my war stories. Let me pull out the documents I have on this homesteader who is selling his claim. He’s already signed off on the deal. Here we are.” Caldwell set a stack of papers on the desk.
“You mean, the deal is already made?”
“In a manner of speaking. You still need to sign yourself, of course. But from Anders I had the impression you wanted the land. Since the seller was in a hurry to head back east—he lost his family, wife and infant, recently and thusly his heart for homesteading—I took the liberty of securing it for you.”
“Well, we do want land. But I thought we’d look into all our options.” Lark’s head spun. This seemed to be happening too fast. “What about homesteading ourselves? Wouldn’t that be less expensive?”
“Well, yes. Homestead land is yours with a fee simple title after improving the claim and five years of residence. But only heads of households of majority age are eligible to file.”
“And I’m a woman.” Lark’s voice was flat.
Mr. Caldwell held up a finger. “Actually, that’s not necessarily a barrier. Single women are allowed to file a claim if they are of age. However, since the law defines a husband as the head of household, women seeking to homestead must not marry until the five years are up and they hold their title free and clear.”
Lark didn’t have any entanglements of the heart, though only God knew what the future held. But what about Delphinium? The two of them were the only sisters who had reached twenty-one, and they’d talked about each finding a plot of land. She chewed the inside of her cheek. “So this man, he had completed his five years?”
“No—the Homestead Act has only been in effect for three. But he owns his land now thanks to the commutation clause, which allows a homesteader to acquire final title by purchase after living on the land for six months. That’s the only reason he can sell. If anyone tries to sell or abandons their homestead before the title is legally theirs, the land reverts back to the public domain.”
“I see.” The details whirred through Lark’s mind. “I’m grateful you know all this. Could we go take a look at the land?”
“Certainly.” Mr. Caldwell pushed back his chair and reached for his hat. “Would you like the rest of your family to come along?”
“Yes, please. We’re camped just outside of town, along with a doctor and his nephew who are accompanying us.” She thought of something. “If, ah, you wouldn’t mind not saying anything about my being a woman just yet, I’d be grateful.”
“I see.” Mr. Caldwell quirked a brow and reached for a nearby cane to assist his walk. “Of course, Miss Nielsen. But you may want to consider dropping your masquerade.
Once you start a new life here, I imagine you will want it to be as yourself.”
“I’ll think on it.”
On Starbright, Lark led the attorney in his buggy to the campsite and gathered up her sisters. The doctor agreed to keep the children, though Del brought the baby along in his sling. The land was about two miles northeast of the town. Del, Lilac, and Forsythia rode in the carriage with Mr. Caldwell, while Lark rode alongside and filled them in on the details.
“Here we are.” At last the attorney pulled up the reins and nodded to where a sod house rose from the prairie some way to the east, a few spindly trees forming a windbreak alongside it. “That’s the half section you would be buying over that way. And this, from here to that line of trees and west to Salt Creek, is the land you’d homestead.”
Their land. A shiver ran down Lark’s arms as she swung off Starbright’s back. Her sisters climbed down, and together they walked, the prairie grass parting around their ankles.
“How many acres?” Lilac asked.
“One hundred sixty for each half section.” Mr. Caldwell kept up with their pace, his cane and prosthetic leg notwithstanding. “So the full claim is three hundred twenty.”
Was it worth it? “Pretty close to the creek. How is the soil?” Lark asked.
“Nebraska is known for good soil, and as you can see, no rocks or stumps to contend with. Good corn and cattle country. Mr. Skinner already dug a well, for Salt Creek is as it sounds—salty.”
By the time they’d walked to one corner of the land, Forsythia was out of breath. Lark’s heart smote her for pushing her sister too far. Yet Forsythia had wanted to come.
“Let me bring the buggy over,” Caldwell said. “She can rest there till you’re finished.”
“I’ll get it,” Lilac offered.
“True, you can move faster than I, young lady.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to cause trouble.” Forsythia leaned on Lark’s arm as Lilac flew across the prairie toward the buggy. “It seems like a good piece of land, though, Lark.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Lark pushed back her hat and let the wind waving the grasses caress her hair. “I just wish I were sure this was best.”
“What is the price?”
“Two hundred and twenty-five dollars. Mr. Caldwell says that’s reasonable, only a little over what homestead land is valued at, and this has been improved a bit with the sod house and the trees. We have the funds, thanks to my encounter with Ringwald. But would it be a wiser use of our money to just homestead?”
Del looked at her. “We could, as women?”
“You and I could.” Lark hesitated. “If we didn’t marry for five years. You have to be twenty-one to file and then stay single for five years.”
“I see. We talked about all wanting to get adjoining plots of land, but Forsythia and Lilac can’t file yet on account of their age,” Del said. “Purchasing this could give them something, along with a start for all of us while we look for more land and decide what to do. I hear claims are going fast now that the war is over, so who knows whether land would even still be available once the younger ones come of age.”
Forsythia nibbled her lip. “That makes sense.”
“Here you are, Sythia.” Lilac drove up in the buggy, set the brake, and jumped down. “Your chariot awaits.”
“Why, thank you.” Forsythia smiled and accepted Mr. Caldwell’s hand to climb in. She turned back to Lark as she settled. “Go on, walk the rest of the land. But I think this might be the Lord’s provision for us.”
Lark wasn’t entirely sure. Yet as the rest of them walked the remaining section, she began to see a home growing here. A house there—not just the soddy, but a real one with wood planks and glass windows. A barn with animals, a garden, productive fields. A windmill to draw water from the well. More trees. Father, is this the place you’ve prepared for us?
“What do you think?” Mr. Caldwell asked the four sisters once they arrived back at the campsite.
“I like it.” Del jiggled Mikael, who was fussing for his milk. “But you’re the eldest, Clark.” With the doctor nearby, she’d switched back to their ruse.
Sometimes Lark didn’t like being eldest. Too much responsibility. “What do you think, Lilac?”
“It seems to have what we’re looking for.” Lilac bent to hug Robbie and Sofie, who threw themselves at her skirts, squealing as if she’d been gone a week. “Not far from town, good land, water.”
Silence fell, all eyes on Lark. She rubbed her hands together, thinking.
“I did bring the papers, if you decide to sign.” Mr. Caldwell opened his leather satchel.
“Well.” Lark drew a breath. “All right. I suppose we’ll take it.”
Smiles and exclamations bubbled all around. Soon Lark leaned against the attorney’s buggy, signing the documents.
The doctor walked up. “Sounds like congratulations are in order.” He extended a hand to Mr. Caldwell. “Dr. Adam Brownsville. I don’t suppose you know of any other good pieces of land for sale in these parts?”
“Henry P. Caldwell, a pleasure. And I can let you know if I do, though you might look into homesteading as well. Or merely setting up a practice—a doctor, you say?”
“I am, yes.”
“He’s truly been a godsend to us,” Forsythia put in. “And everyone on our wagon train, till they left us behind.”
“Medical men are needed everywhere, that’s certain. Assuredly here in Salton.”
“You have no doctor?” Dr. Brownsville slid his hands in his pockets and cocked his head.
“We had one, a supposed physician at least, but he seemed to rely more on patent medicines than anything else. I never trusted him, nor did many others. He left a couple of months ago in the middle of the night, after a woman he was treating died. He left an office, which is still empty, far as I know.”
“You don’t say.” The doctor ran a hand over his beard. “We should talk further.”
“Glad to. Your presence could be a real uplift to this town. But tonight”—the attorney glanced at the sky—“I need to get home, or my wife will have my head for being late to supper. Especially on a night she’s fixed fried chicken.” He winked. “Pleasure meeting you folks. Young Nielsen, come to my office tomorrow, and we’ll finalize the sale.” He packed the papers, gave one to Lark, and drove off.
The doctor watched him go. “He seems like a good man.”
“Anders trusted him with his life. And with us.”
“A good recommendation.” Dr. Brownsville nodded. “So you took the land?”
“We did.” Lark folded the paper in her hands, still heady with the reality. “Two hundred twenty-five dollars for one hundred sixty acres that includes a one-room sod house and some trees and about five acres worked up, plus a well. We’ll homestead the adjoining section too. We still need to finalize everything with the banker in town.”
The doctor frowned. “One dollar and forty cents per acre. I thought homestead land was only valued at a dollar twenty-five per acre.”
“Mr. Caldwell said it was a fair price due to the improvements.” Of course she’d run the calculations in her head, multiple times. But doubt sank heavy in Lark’s stomach. Had she moved too quickly? Lord, is this what you truly want us to have?
21
Had he made the right choice?
Adam walked alongside Henry Caldwell over the raised wooden sidewalks of Salton. It had seemed obvious at the time, leaving the wagon train. But settling in Nebraska—when he and Jesse had planned for California—was a big change.
But then, it hadn’t been him and Jesse planning for California, not really. It had been him and Elizabeth. And Elizabeth was gone.
“The empty office is across the street beside the general store. The folks who own the store, Mr. and Mrs. Jorgensen, own that building too.” Caldwell waited for a horse and wagon to pass, then led the way across the street, keeping a brisk pace despite his cane and prosthetic leg. Amazing, the mech
anical marvels in medicine since the war.
“Do you think they’d be open to selling or renting the space?” Adam paused on the street to examine the simple board front of the building. “Are there rooms behind the office?”
“Above. Let’s see if they can let us in.” Caldwell pushed open the door of the general store with a friendly jangle.
A slender man with a gray mustache looked up from behind the counter. “Mr. Caldwell, good afternoon.”
“How are you, Mr. Jorgensen?”
“Fine, fine, can’t complain. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a friend here I think you’ll be glad to meet.” Caldwell turned and extended a hand toward Adam. “Dr. Adam Brownsville. He’s just arrived in the area.”
The warmth in Caldwell’s brown eyes eased Adam’s wondering about this new step. Friend—he liked the sound of that.
“Welcome to you, Doctor.” Mr. Jorgensen shook his hand, his grip welcoming if not strong. “Planning to stay in these parts?”
“He’s interested in your rooms next door, the office Dr. Edson used. Would you let him take a look?”
“Sure, sure.” Mr. Jorgensen nodded and took off his apron. “Certainly would be fine to have a decent doctor in these parts after that last humbug.”
“He was a real charlatan, eh?” Adam followed.
“Worse.” The shopkeeper’s hands trembled a bit as he fit a key into a door in the wall separating the store and the office beside it. “He . . . but you’ll learn all that soon enough. Here we are.”
The door stuck a bit, then swung open. Adam stepped into the musty warmth of a closed-up building. Sunlight beamed through dusty windows, illuminating a desk, several chairs, and an examining table. A cabinet stood in the corner with a few bottles and boxes inside.
Adam opened the cupboard and took out a small brown glass flask. He examined the faded label, then opened the bottle and sniffed. He shook his head. “Calomel.”
“Oh yes. He dosed that stuff out like candy, said it was a regular cure-all. He gave it to me when I had a bellyache, but it made me so sick that I threw it out.”
The Seeds of Change Page 19