Bold Spirit

by Linda Lawrence Hunt

  To accept this wager meant Helga and Clara needed to attempt something no unescorted women before them had ever accomplished. They must undertake the hazards of crossing a continent still made up of vast stretches of wild frontier country and lofty rugged mountain passes; traverse through several Indian reservations; weather the potential ravages of blistering heat and freezing snow; walk unprotected from the threat of sudden cyclones, tornadoes, forest fires, or flash floods; resist unsavory men tempted to rob, rape, or even kill them; and survive in wilderness territory unscathed from frightened or hungry bears, mountain lions, wolves, rattlesnakes, or other wild animals. To avoid getting lost in the sparsely populated West, Helga planned to follow the railroad tracks. This meant they must negotiate long, high trestles crossing over swift rivers. And they would be wearing full-length Victorian dresses until they reached Salt Lake City.

  Her husband, her Scandinavian neighbors, and her children voiced their fears and their questions. She was risking danger to herself and her daughter. How could they protect their “purity” and safety against rough men, hobos, and vagabonds who might consider women alone as easy prey? With the nation enduring harsh economic times, many unemployed men hung out along the rails to sneak rides. They could starve, unable to find food in the hundreds of miles between towns in the West, or become ill or injured while sloshing in freezing rain or snow, especially in the Rocky Mountains. Clara might be physically strong, but Helga’s health clearly was more precarious after her surgery, latest childbirths, and a recent skirmish with mild consumption. Where would they find safe sleeping quarters every night, food to eat, or places to bathe, toilet, and wash their clothes when in the wilderness?

  Helga heard these fears and admitted to some of her own, particularly the potential danger of being accosted by men. After entering into the contract, she considered what they needed to carry for protection. She and Clara, perhaps through a Spokane friend of the eastern sponsor, visited Spokane’s Mayor Horatio Belt and requested a formal letter of introduction. He agreed to provide this document and even arranged for it to be stamped with the State Seal and the signature of the Washington State treasurer. The mayor wrote his equivalent of a calling card that asked for “kindly considerations” to Helga and Clara and affirmed that “Mrs. H. Estby has been a resident of this city and vicinity for the last nine years and is a lady of good character and reputation.”18

  On Tuesday, May 5, at 12:19, Helga and Clara, dressed “warmly but plainly,” departed from the front of the Chronicle newspaper office at the corner of Post and Main Street to begin their arduous journey to the New York World newspaper office over 3000 miles away. Carrying only small bundles and a few dollars in cash, they followed the O.R.&N. railroad route for twenty-eight miles back to their home in Mica Creek. An interview covered in that afternoon’s paper showed Helga’s desperation and determination as she answered the question of “why they are taking this trip.”

  “Well, to make money,” she admitted, as she described having been laid up with her own ill health for some time, and her fear they will lose their home and farm because they could not pay their taxes and mortgage. In a retort to all the doubters who urged her to reconsider because such a venture was impossible and inappropriate for women, she optimistically insisted that “they anticipate no great difficulty in making their way,” and that “we have made up our minds as well as all arrangements.”19

  She mentions to one reporter, “We are just going for pleasure and to make some money,” suggesting she actually looked forward to this new journey across America with her firstborn daughter, Clara. She initially appeared relaxed about the time the trip would take, expecting six months or more, and planned to be back home by Christmas. She also expressed hope that newspapers might buy articles describing their adventures along the route.

  Choosing Clara to accompany her gave Helga a companion who shared her own sense of strength, intelligence, and sensitivity. As the oldest of their nine children, Clara always assumed responsibility, especially during the years when Helga’s accident left her with such debilitating illness.20 She also showed independence of thought, disagreeing with her mother on the political issues surrounding 1896. With day after day of long hours of walking ahead, Clara as a traveling partner promised interesting conversations on all that they might see. An engaging and attractive young woman, she augmented the image that mother and daughter were respectable and deserved to be treated like ladies. Being chosen by her mother did not necessarily mean she wanted to embark on this risky venture, but Clara knew Helga needed her presence.

  What Helga carried inside seemed as important as the items in her satchel. Emboldened now with a decisive plan of action, she exuded a spirit of confidence, indomitable determination, and engaging intelligence, which reporters noticed. Free from the predictable daily responsibilities of birthing, nursing, and raising children that had shaped the past twenty years, Helga sounded excited about the unpredictable “pleasurable” adventures open to them as tourists when they visited major cities in America.21

  And she carried the immigrant’s mantra—to improve one’s lot in life, one must be willing to journey into the unknown. During her stepfather’s journey to America and her husband’s move to homestead in Minnesota, she had followed them. Now Helga made her own decision on how to improve their family’s life through intrepid travel. She was determined to try, despite the risks.

  But this choice meant she stepped beyond traditional boundaries for women in the 1890s. Although women settling the West lived with much less rigidity to roles than eastern middle-class women, the Victorian concept of separate spheres for men and women still prevailed. Magazines, literature, and sermons elevated a woman’s role in caring for her home and children, and a man’s role in the public marketplace. Motherhood, contended the editors of the popular Godey’s Lady’s Book, was the most “striking and beautiful” aspect of the “female character,” providing the “fulfillment of a woman’s physiological and moral destiny.”22 The widespread belief that mothers set the moral tone of a home still found expression in science, religion, and political structures of late-nineteenth-century America. “Heaven,” wrote one advocate of women’s elevated moral role, “has given special favors to your sex, through this simple fact or principle of dependence. It is your work to soften and refine men. Men living without you, by themselves, become savage and sinful. The purer you are, the more are they restrained, and the more are they elevated.”23

  Perhaps even more unsettling than the tangible dangers was Helga’s choice to break the intangible taboo, particularly strong in Norwegian-American communities, against a mother leaving one’s children. She would be leaving her eight remaining children, including Lillian, a two-year-old toddler too young to even understand why her mother left. Many believed that no proper moral woman would dare consider such a thing. Ole’s best friend, Martin Siverson, clearly disapproved and could not comprehend how a mother could walk away from her family responsibilities. He expressed what others in her Norwegian community were thinking, “Women just didn’t do such things!”24

  But Helga not only held confidence in herself but also in her family. While recognizing this journey would be challenging, she believed Ole and their children could help make this work. She had returned to the Midwest for several months three years earlier in 1893, and the family proved they could sustain one another. Besides, Olaf, seventeen, Ida, fifteen, and Bertha, now fourteen, were considered old enough to work for others, so they certainly could help keep house, care for their younger brothers and sisters, and assist with the farm. Arthur, eleven, and eight-year-old Johnny could take care of the chickens and pigs and help some with four-year-old William and little Lillian. Ole’s sister, Hanna, had emigrated from Norway and worked in Spokane as an ironer at the steam laundry. She could help on weekends.25 Helga believed their kind neighbors would help in an emergency; besides, she planned to be back by Christmas. Because Ole was unable to work in carpentry until his back improved, he c
ertainly could watch the youngest ones, Lillian and William, when school started in the fall. After all, she had managed to care for four children under age six in their one-room sod home. Ole loved the children and was a good father, and with Ida’s and Bertha’s help, she felt confident he could take care of them. She knew this daily care of children and the home was a rare role for a Scandinavian father, but their family life was in serious danger. Western women often entered into “men’s work” to sustain a family, and she believed Ole could adapt. Maintaining proper roles provided no viable solution to their problems.

  Helga acknowledged the opposition she encountered before she left Spokane. To one reporter she stated: “We were told at the start we would never make the trip, but we are confident of getting through successfully.”26 Part of her confidence came from a previous venture when she successfully walked four hundred miles alone. Although the place and reason for this earlier trek is unclear, perhaps in the Midwest to visit her family, it clearly provided an experience that infused her with a belief in their potential success.27 To Helga, the promise of the $10,000 reward outweighed any threats of failure. She faced the question, “what does fear keep you from doing?” and decided she was unwilling to let fear or disapproval keep her from action. Feeling her family’s future lay in her hands, she knew she must try to win the wager. So, with Clara at her side, Helga turned to the East.

  8 UNDAUNTED BY RAIN, SLEET, AND SNOW

  They conversed with enthusiasm upon their undertakings and told of the hardships, privations and snubbings which they had already submitted to with an air of perfect nonchalance. They carry revolvers which they would not hesitate to use in case of necessity.

  —BEDROCK DEMOCRAT

  BAKER CITY, OREGON, MAY 25, 1896

  Now a quiet courage replaced Helga’s earlier months of fear and anxiety. She looked forward with focused confidence, imagining one step at a time, one mile at a time, one city at a time. All they needed to do was place one foot in front of another; find food, water, and nightly shelter; stay clean; avoid violent men and wild beasts; earn funds along the way; and keep their spirits up.

  The railroad routes gave them a constant guide more visible than the elusive North Star or the poorly marked maps of the sparsely populated West. Even more, the far-reaching whistles of the trains gave living proof that one could achieve the impossible. Fabled stories abounded in America of how the men building the cross-continental railroad overcame all obstacles and naysayers. No mountain, or snowstorm, or waterway deterred the resolve of the railroad magnates and their workers from reaching their goals. Well, women could be determined, too.

  Buoyant with hope, on the first day they walked twenty-eight miles along the O.R.&N. tracks from Spokane back through the spring countryside to their farm in Mica Creek for a final farewell to their family. They heard the refreshing rush and roar of the magnificent Spokane Falls and absorbed the panoramic feast of freshly plowed farmlands to hold in their memory. Early the next morning, Helga and Clara hugged and kissed the children and Ole farewell, assuring them they planned to be home for Christmas. But how does a mother explain that leaving is an act of family devotion, not desertion, especially to her toddler Lillian, or four-year-old William? Local farmers from their Little Norway community watched as the women walked away, including Martin Siverson, Ole’s best friend. Helga ignored the incomprehension and stark disapproval in their eyes.1

  For ten days they trudged south through eastern Washington, pelted by constant rains and sleet—a continuation of the worst winter in the Northwest since 1882. Chilled in their dripping wet clothes, they looked forward to arriving in the Scandinavian town of LaCrosse Junction because their map indicated this small village had a place to accommodate travelers. But, instead, they found only a depot and section house. Even more unsettling, the local Norwegians believed the women’s actions scandalous, making them “undeserving vagrants.” They refused to give any hospitality of shelter or food to the weary mother and daughter even though they possessed enough money to pay. So Helga and Clara took quarters in the waiting room of the depot and “fared as best we could” in their wet dresses, passing an uncomfortable night as “it was very cold.”2

  Gusty winds and rain continued to hamper their journey. After walking since 7 o’clock in the morning along the railroad, they arrived the afternoon of May 16th in Walla Walla where they wanted to rest for two days. They began their pattern of stopping by newspaper offices for free publicity when they needed to stay in a town to earn money. Helga presented their calling card that read “Mrs. H. Estby and daughter, pedestrians, Spokane to New York” at the Walla Walla Union. A reporter obligingly wrote a full-column article called “Are Walking for Wages” about the “plucky woman who has conceived a novel plan to raise a mortgage.”3

  Describing Helga as “a pleasant faced little woman,” the article told of her attempt to save the family farm and the contract stipulation to model the “reform dress” designed by an eastern lady. Helga also described their first direct encounters with men. Rather than experiencing the predicted harassment, she stated, “We yesterday had company most of the day in the persons of two wandering gentlemen.”4 The women’s spirit of tourism and adventure emerged, or at least their desire to gather interesting stories along the way. They mentioned their intention to visit the Cripple Creek mining district in Colorado, all the large cities along the way, and “everything of interest.” Helga even wanted to visit the Washington State penitentiary and garrison before leaving for Pendleton. Walla Walla was also the site of the Whitman mission, where Cayuse Indians, realizing the missionaries and settlers brought the measles epidemic that decimated their tribe, killed Marcus and Narcissa Whitman thirty-eight years earlier in 1848. Narcissa also broke new ground as the first Anglo-American woman to cross the continent on a Conestoga wagon with her husband in 1837.

  Before Helga and Clara reached Pendleton, they received a “good fortune” ride from a Mr. Mason who was traveling in his own wagon from Sprague, Washington, to Pendleton. Saying this wagon ride was “the first ride they have had since leaving home,” they clarified the contract stipulations on transportation to a reporter, saying they must walk on foot, or go by vehicle other than a railroad vehicle “in which they may be invited, without remuneration, to take a ride.”5

  From Pendleton they followed the Union Pacific track through the Umatilla Indian Reservation, land of around one thousand members of the Walla Walla, Cayuse, and Umatilla Tribes.6 The railway ran through the reservation along the silver thread of the Umatilla River, banked by cottonwood and hawthorn trees and steep bluffs. Walking the rails took the women directly through the land where Indians set up their encampments along the riverbanks.

  Helga and Clara crossed through the Umatilla Reservation of the Confederated Tribes of the Cayuse, Umatilla, Nez Perce, and Walla Walla along the Umatilla River near Pendleton, Oregon.

  Courtesy Umatilla County Historical Society.

  Then they started the climb up the Blue Mountains, an eastern Oregon mountain range of great scenic beauty. But these were the same mountains that earlier proved so challenging for travelers, oxen, and wagons on the Oregon Trail. At over 4100 feet, this rugged mountain pass tested the women’s physical endurance. Beautiful in summer, the snows were only partially melted by May. Often the previous day’s thaw froze into ice during the overnight frost, adding to challenging drifts, snow banks, and sheets of ice on the steep climb and descent of this 45-mile trek over the mountains. Even in a milder spring, locals encouraged crossing in late summer. They believed that “no sane man who values his life and health should attempt the journey before April or May,” but Helga and Clara needed to try now.7 Where the snow had recently melted, the mud, mire, and high water created additional dangers as they forged across streams several times a day in their long skirts. They did not carry blankets, boots, or a change of clothes, so they risked hypothermia from the steep drop in temperatures at night, when temperatures rarely rose above zero. They fi
nished the long dreary descent down Devil’s Pinch, hungry, wet, and exhausted, undoubtedly delighted to see the beautiful Grande Ronde Valley. Yet, after their first treacherous mountain crossing, they had proved to themselves they possessed exceptional fortitude and strength.

  On the way down the mountain before reaching La Grande, Oregon, a tramp followed and threatened them for several days. “At a lonely point [he] attempted to intercept” them. They protested and tried to avoid him. But he persisted. Frightened by his actions, when he “refused to desist” and instead attacked, Helga shot a bullet through this “dudishly looking fellow’s leg.” Shaken by this face-off with a dangerous man and her need for lethal action, she was “pleased to announce that they were not arrested for this.”8 This first incident defending themselves gave Helga growing confidence that she possessed the mettle to protect them, if necessary. The town of La Grande, situated at the foot of the Blue Mountains, was a welcome relief. A farming community in a long fertile valley, surrounded by mountains abundant with fir, pine, and tamarack trees, it promised a place for food and rest.

  Then, by the afternoon of May 24, they arrived at the Bedrock Democrat newspaper office in Baker City, Oregon. The reporter described the revolver-toting women as weather beaten and sun brown, and Clara as “tall, well built, rather pleasant appearing, and of mature years.” Helga expressed hope that they might earn part of their travel funds by “furnishing reports to New York and San Francisco newspapers.” She recognized that working in towns absorbed valuable time from their seven-month deadline, more time than she originally imagined. They planned to continue selling portraits of themselves, which was a quicker way to gain funds. She said, however, “if driven to extremes,” they will accept any employment that may be offered them at cities through which they may pass.9