Bargain Bessie

by Zina Abbott

  Zeb half rose out of his chair. “Not your concern, Eddie Joe.”

  Zeb knew he had the man nervous by the way his words tripped over themselves coming out of his mouth. “I know, Boss. But, I can’t help but wonder sometimes. I mean, I figured you might want to start a family so you have someone to pass it all along to. You know, so all your hard work doesn’t end up being for nothing. Unless, of course, you’re planning to name me in your will, seeing as how I’m almost like a son to you.” Eddie Joe stopped and offered his boss a wide, teasing grin.

  “Not hardly. Sometimes I wonder why I tolerate your sorry hide around my place at all.”

  “Now, Boss, you know I do good work for you. I’m right proud to ride for a brand that’s the best around.”

  “You’re absolutely right I’m the best around. I’ve worked hard to build up this spread to what it is today. It takes a lot of work, and I certainly haven’t had time to go chasing around looking for a woman to marry.”

  Eddie Joe shifted on his feet, almost like he was searching for the right words. “But, haven’t you thought, Boss, it’d be mighty nice to have a woman around the place?”

  Zeb sat down and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded. “I do have a woman around the place. Her name is Juanita, and she does a fine job of keeping up the house and cooking meals for me.”

  Eddie Joe scrunched his forehead as he considered Zeb’s retort. “Well, yes, Boss, and I can see where you’d probably want to leave her something of the ranch in your will, too, for all the good she’s done for you. But it’s not like she can run the cattle and manage the ranch like you want done—assuming, that is, she outlives you. I figure she’s well into her fifties, and with you pushing forty…”

  Zeb growled. “I’m not pushing forty! I’m only thirty-seven, and you know it.”

  Eddie Joe nodded in acknowledgement, but pressed on. “Right you are, Boss. Then again, if I recollect correctly, you have a birthday in about a month and that would put you at…”

  Zeb jumped to his feet with a shout. “I’m not pushing forty! Now let it go.”

  Eddie Joe threw his hands up in surrender. “All right, Boss. But, I’m just saying, if you don’t want to have this place fall apart or get divvied up by a bunch of homesteaders after you pass, you might want to start looking for a nice woman to marry, someone who can give you a couple of young’uns to pass this along to, if that’s what you’d like to see happen when your time comes. If not, there’s always me, seeing as how I’m about ten years younger than you and have always been like a son to you.”

  Zeb rolled his eyes. “Um-hum. And then what do you plan to do when the ten years is up and it’s your time?”

  “I got some ideas about that. But, we’re talking about you, Boss.”

  Zeb huffed with impatience. “I see absolutely no reason for you to suddenly take such an interest in my personal affairs. Eddie Joe, why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me what happened in Jubilee Springs that has you all fired up about me getting married.”

  Eddie Joe cleared his throat. “Well, you see, Boss, one reason the Bainbridges made such a big whoopla about Independence Day this year is…you mind if I sit down, Boss?” After Zeb motioned him to a chair, Eddie Joe continued. “Ol’ Clive and Royce Bainbridge who own the mine, they got it in their heads that they’d have a more steady workforce if some of their men settled down with wives and children. So, they built themselves a bunch of houses across the river on mining company land. You ought to see them, Boss. All long and narrow—looks like a bunch of cartridge boxes double-stacked on a shelf….”

  Zeb made a circular motion with his hands to encourage Eddie Joe to keep going and be quick about it. “I don’t need to know about the houses. I’m still waiting to hear the relevance in all this.”

  “They hired this woman out of Denver who owns a bridal agency to line up a bunch of brides for the miners to marry. Real nice lady, Boss. Real short and sort of on the well-fed side, but kind of cute. But don’t go getting any ideas about her. Seemed to me like ol’ Royce Bainbridge spent a lot of time with her, and I’m not sure it was all business from the way things looked.”

  “I could care less about Royce Bainbridge’s love-life. And I certainly don’t care about some big-city, slip-shod bridal agency taking people’s hard-earned money.”

  Eddie Joe cleared his throat. “Well, you might want to rethink that, Boss. She’s right scientific about it. She has everyone write a letter, see, then uses this special formula to figure out who would be the best possible matches based on how their handwriting matches up. I mean, it worked out well for a couple of the miners. They wrote to a couple of ladies based on her findings, and ended up getting married to them yesterday. Some of the others, though, they ended up choosing based on…well…you know…”

  Zeb kept his voice deceptively quiet. “No. I don’t know. Explain it to me.”

  “Ah…well…good ol’ mutual sparking, I guess. You know, talk a little, do a little dancing and picnicking, go for a ride in the country, and the next thing you know…. I mean, we may have missed the Sunday sermon, but yesterday that church was busy all day with couples getting hitched. This lady from Denver, she might be able to find you some sweet thing…”

  “I may not be old, but I sure wouldn’t be interested in some girl just out of the schoolroom.”

  “Then you are interested.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Eddie Joe forged on as if he hadn’t heard his boss’s denial. “She has women all ages. One of them was some widow who was forty if she was a day. Real nice lady, and at your age, it’s not going to matter much some lady being five-six years older than you…”

  Zeb shook his head. “No, Eddie Joe. I’m not interested in some nice lady five or six years either way.”

  “That’s all right, Boss. This old gal, she ended up making good friends with the daughter of Amos Lehman. You know, the one whose mule gave Jubilee Springs its name?”

  “Amos Lehman? That old coot?”

  “Yep! Speculation is she’ll end up with him, especially seeing as how the miner she was set up to marry got himself killed in a shootout. Oh, and forget about Lehman’s daughter. Got the impression the sheriff had his eye on her in more ways than one. But, there were still some other nice women who came up and got married yesterday. That Mrs. Millard must have done something right.”

  “Mrs. Millard…”

  “The lady with the bridal agency.”

  “And you’re saying I should write her a letter. Then based on how I dot my ‘i’s and cross my ‘t’s, she’ll figure out who I should marry? I’ve never heard of such nonsense. And I sure don’t want you talking this up with the other men. The last thing I need is for you or anyone else getting any ridiculous ideas.”

  Eddie Joe swallowed. “Most of these boys at the ranch are looking for temporary arrangements, Boss. But, not every cowhand wants to ride the cowboy trail all his life, especially someone like you who’s built up a nice spread. You want to have a say on who ends up with it when you pass on, don’t you?”

  “Stop trying to put me in my grave, Eddie Joe.”

  Eddie Joe flung his head side to side an exaggerated shake. “Nope! No, Boss, I’m not trying to do anything of the kind. Just looking out for the best interests of the ranch. Just keep in mind she only uses handwriting to narrow down who you’d most likely do good with. You write letters back and forth to a couple of them for months. Only if you think things will work out with the lady do you make arrangements to meet up in person. You should talk to her yourself, Boss. She chaperoned a handful of brides up this last weekend, and says when she has another batch ready to come, she’ll chaperone them up too. I can…” Eddie Joe cleaned his throat. “I mean, if I hear anything about when she’s due up this way again, I’ll let you know.”

  Zeb offered Eddie Joe a gimlet eye. “So I can stand in line behind a bunch of miners to ask her to find me a woman because I can’t find one by myself?”


  “No, now, Boss. You’re trying to put words in my mouth that I had no intention of putting in there. I’m just saying, seeing as how there aren’t hardly any decent single women in these parts, working with this woman to help bring someone in who might make you happy and give you a good family may not be a half-bad idea.”

  Zeb harrumphed. “Well, don’t go out of your way to steer me her way when she comes to Jubilee Springs. If I decide to go wife-hunting…and that’s a big if…I’ll go talk to her when I go to Denver to buy provisions for the winter. Until then, let it go and get back to your job.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  Zeb smiled as he watched Eddie Joe rush out of the room. The man was naturally quick, but there was no doubt his eagerness to escape from the office that morning gave him added incentive to rush to his work.

  Zeb shook his head and muttered in disgust under his breath. “Pushing forty.…” he sat back and stared at the ceiling as a rare moment of contemplation overcame him. Perhaps it was time to see about finding a good wife who could give him some children to raise up and take over the ranch someday.

  .

  .

  .

  .

  TERRA HAUTE, indiana – middle july 1881

  CHAPTER 3

  ~o0o~

  “Elisabeth.”

  Bessie spun around and hurried to her mother’s side at the sound of her parent’s failing, querulous voice. “Yes, Ma. How do you need me to help?”

  “Do you have another pillow to put behind my shoulders, dear? I feel like my heart is pressing against my lungs, not allowing me to breathe.”

  Bessie grabbed her own pillow, fluffed it, and slid it behind her mother to help prop her up. “There you go, Ma. Are you ready to eat a little? Mrs. Johnson brought up some soup for you a little while ago. I believe it’s still warm.”

  Emeline slowly tilted her head to look at her daughter. “I thought you told her we would not be paying for board any longer, only for the room.”

  “I did, Ma. She claims it was left over from supper last night, and she preferred we have it rather than have to throw it out.”

  “I’ll try some, but I’m not very hungry. You should eat it. You are getting far too thin.”

  “I already had some.” It was not an outright lie, Bessie told herself as she carried the bowl to the bed. She had enjoyed a few sips, savoring the two bite-size chunks of chicken she had eaten. However, she had saved most of the large bowl of brothy soup for her mother. “I sometimes think Mrs. Johnson holds some aside for us on purpose. I suspect she knows we subsist mostly on oatmeal, bread and milk.”

  Although it required her to purchase firewood, Bessie felt grateful the room came with a small wood-burning stove with a single burner. It not only kept the room warm in the winter, but it was just large enough to allow her to heat a kettle of water and cook a small pot of food.

  “This is such a sacrifice for you, Elisabeth, being saddled with me like this.”

  Tears welled up in Bessie’s eyes, her emotion choking her. She cleared throat. “I love you, Ma. I’m doing fine. I just wish I could do more for you.”

  “You’re doing more than anyone could expect, my daughter, and I love you dearly for it. Have you heard from Ben yet? I had hoped he could at lease relieve some of the financial burden for you.”

  Bessie hated to lie, but to keep from battering her mother’s already damaged heart further, she did. She would not burden her mother with the reality of what a self-serving lout her brother still was at his age. “He said he is working on it, Ma, and we should receive something from him soon.”

  “I see.” Emeline’s voice barely carried her words as she raised her hand to reject the rest of the soup. “I cannot eat anymore, Bessie, or my stomach will revolt. You be sure to finish every drop. We cannot afford to waste any food.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Dutifully, although Bessie suspected her mother was not as full as she claimed, she began to eat the soup. She noticed her mother had not enquired about seeking help from Martha and her husband, since they both knew seeking help from them was definitely a dead end venture. She paused, the spoon dripping broth halfway to her mouth, at her mother’s next words.

  “Bessie, I need you to find something small of mine you can sell, something that will fetch enough money for you to send a telegram to your Uncle Simon. I need you to send it as soon as possible. You must tell him my time is almost gone…”

  “Ma, please don’t talk like that. You are doing better, and…”

  Emeline’s voice sounded sterner than Bessie recalled having heard in months. “No, Elisabeth. You must face what is real, and you must not try to pretend for my sake. I do not have much time left. I would like to see my youngest brother before I go—if he will come.”

  Chastised, Bessie bowed her head. “Yes, Ma. Please don’t excite yourself. I don’t think it’s good for your heart.”

  Emeline sighed, with her breath sounding like it gradually leaked from her lungs as opposed to being pushed out by her chest muscles. “You’re right, Bessie. You have taken on so much, and I love you dearly for shouldering the burden for both of us. However, I do need you to do this for me without questioning me regarding the wisdom of it. I know it will take you some time, so I’ll just stay here and rest. Is my needlepoint nearby in case I feel up to working on it a little?”

  “Right here, Ma.” Bessie reached to the small bedside table and scooted the basket with her mother’s project inside a few inches closer to the bed. “It’s right where you can reach it easily. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Take the ceramic vase, dear. It won’t be worth much, but perhaps the variety store will give you enough for it to cover the telegram and another loaf of bread.”

  “Perhaps some hard rolls, Ma. I think they’ll keep better. I’ll be back when I can.”

  Bessie offered a silent prayer of gratitude when she found the husband of the couple who owned the variety store was working that day. He tended to be more willing to give her a good price for the items she had brought in to sell. Although she had never said anything, perhaps he had heard gossip about her and her mother’s situation, or perhaps he had been able to deduce from the threadbare look and carefully mended corner tear on her dress that she had fallen on hard times. Either way, he had offered enough for the vase to cover both a telegram and a small amount of food. In addition to the hard rolls, she could buy some tea which always seemed to help perk her mother up for a short time.

  At the telegraph office, Bessie debated how to word the telegram to keep it short, yet still give enough of a message to signal her uncle how close her mother was to death. For, although Bessie denied it when talking to her mother, and as much as she wished to deny it to herself, she knew it was only a matter of weeks. She placed the pencil to paper.

  Mother requests you come STOP end is soon STOP Bessie

  Bessie’s eyes watered as she read over the words before she handed it to the telegraph operator. For some reason, seeing the words on paper made it even more real than when the same thoughts burrowed through her mind. The end for her mother really was soon, and then Bessie would be left alone, the last of her family to still live in Terre Haute, the city she had been born in and which had been the home town of her family for many decades.

  Bessie blinked her eyes dry and paid for the telegram. She needed to hurry to her next errand and return to her mother. With being unable to get out of bed unassisted these days, she did not dare leave her by herself for too long, even though she needed to purchase their food and run other errands.

  The sun had started to sink towards the western horizon when she returned to the room. She heard her mother stir in the bed as she put the rolls away in the breadbox.

  “Were you able to sell the vase and send the telegram, Bessie?”

  Bessie turned to her mother, a roll in her hand. She broke it in two, and used her fingers to scoop out some of the soft center which she offered to her mother. “Yes, Ma. Fortunately
, the man was working the counter and he gave me a fair price for the vase. I was also able to get some food. Please try some of this roll. They smelled marvelous when I bought them.”

  Emeline’s shaky hand reached for the soft bread. “Thank you, dear. You eat the rest. Eat more than one, or make some oatmeal if you are still hungry.”

  “It’s too hot to start the stove again, Ma. I’ll fill the quart jar with water and tea leaves I bought and set it in the window. Hopefully it will get warm enough to brew some tea for us for tomorrow night.”

  “That sounds lovely, Bessie.” Emeline’s words came out so softly Bessie barely heard them. She turned to her daughter. When you finish your roll, will you please read Desdemona’s last letter to me again? I’d like to hear once again about Aaron’s new wife.”

  For some reason, Emeline had always called her sister-in-law by her full name, just as she had always requested people address her by her proper name.

  “Certainly, Ma.” Bessie fought back a stab of jealousy. Aaron, her cousin so close to her in age, the one who was always incredibly shy and quiet, especially around most girls, but who had always talked up a storm with her, had married. Twenty-nine years old, same as she was, he had found a young woman through a bridal agency. After knowing her three days, he had married her.

  For some reason, Bessie had felt like both she and Aaron were two peas in a pod. Any time their parents had visited each other and the two spent time together, they had been inseparable. As she grew older with no prospects of marriage, and had known he had not sought out, let alone found, a lifetime companion, she had somehow drawn the conclusion they both were each destined to go through life alone, he as a bachelor and she as a spinster, neither having family. Only now, Aaron had married and had a house of his own. She supposed the next letter she received—assuming Aaron or his parents still wrote once her mother passed—she would learn Aaron’s new wife was expecting.