Lilly_Bride of Illinois

by Linda K. Hubalek

  Sincerely,

  Lilly Lind

  Lawrence, Mass.

  Chapter 1

  “Miss Lind? Miss Lilly Lind?”

  Seth Reagan heard the woman’s name being called over and over as a man walked through the noisy crowd departing from the west bound train just arrived at the Chicago depot. The man wore a gray top coat over his suit, and a dark gray fedora hat, and held a small sign over his head which must have had the woman’s name printed on it. The ends of his maroon wool scarf flipped in the chilly November air as he turned one way then another trying to catch the woman’s attention.

  Seth stood about fifteen feet away from the man. He had arrived on the east bound train a few minutes ago, and was trying to getting his bearings. People were streaming past him some in a hurry to leave the depot, others waiting for a particular person to descend the steps of one of the many cars unloading at this busy station. There were more people within seeing distance here than the population of Clear Creek, Kansas, his hometown.

  He was in Chicago on behalf of his employer, to attend two livestock shows and a horse sale. The shows were to be held in the Exhibition Hall at the Union Stockyards. He had reservations to stay in Hough Hall Hotel near the Yards, so he needed to determine where the hotel was located and how to get there.

  “Miss Lilly Lind?”

  “Yes, hello, I am Miss Lind,” a young woman walked up to the man holding the sign and identified herself in a clear, strong voice. She was tall with wisps of strawberry blonde hair escaping out of her brown woolen cap. Seth saw her tan wool cloak had a smear of dried mud on the side of it when the crowds dispersed enough for him to get a good look at the woman. It was hard to keep one’s clothes clean when traveling, so he didn’t think anything of it. She looked nervous, but she held her head high and looked the man in the eye.

  “Miss, are you an American? I hear an accent in your voice,” the man said before even saying hello.

  “Hmm, yes, I came from Sweden two years ago, but I’m an American now. Are you Mr. Hardesty, my fiancé?” Miss Lind nervously asked.

  “No, miss. I’m picking you up for my boss, but he’s not going to be happy you’re an immigrant,” the man rudely stated.

  The woman appeared shocked at his statement and looked around her, as if seeking an escape route should she needed to bolt. Her eye was caught by Seth’s dark brown cowboy hat, and then she looked directly in his hazel eyes. She stared at him a bit, looked away, and then back at him again. Then Miss Lind took a deep breath before turning back to the man and asking, “And you are, sir?”

  “The man who’s going to be in trouble for bringing an immigrant back to the saloon. Got a trunk we need to pick up?”

  “Ah, no, I just have my carpet bag,” she stammered.

  Seth looked at the confused woman and wondered what her story was, and why she came to Chicago. She asked the man if he was her fiancé. The man impatiently said no, and he was taking her to a saloon. Did the Swedish woman understand where she was being taken?

  “Okay then, let’s go. The boss will want you in house and in your costume by the evening’s opening time.”

  The woman stood her ground when the man took hold of her arm. “Wait, I think you have the wrong person. I’m here to wed Mr. Wilber Hardesty. He’s a well–known businessman in Chicago.”

  “Yes, that’s him. Mr. Hardesty owns the Stockyard Emporium and you’re supposed to be his new saloon singer, if he can get past the fact you’re an immigrant,” the man in distaste.

  “No! I’m to be his wife, not a saloon singer!” she panicked and tried to pull away, as the man grabbed her bag away from her.

  “That’s what all his ‘mail–order brides’ say, Miss Lind,” the man chuckled as he pulled her into the crowd.

  Seth started following them to offer the lady his assistance, because this situation was obviously not what she expected.

  “Oops, sorry sir,” Seth whipped his head away from the couple when bags carried by a young man hit him on the hip. The person was overloaded carrying two bags in each hand.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Seth replied then turned back to find the woman. He stood on his toes and scanned the crowd, but they had disappeared. Seth had an uneasy feeling about her situation, and his conscience was kicking him for not coming to her assistance right away. Seth hoped the woman was strong enough to stand up for herself because she might need to do just that in the near future.

  ***

  Lilly panicked as the man pulled her through the crowd. After walking almost a block, he hailed a carriage and it stopped for them to climb on. Her guide helped her up to the seat, but didn’t say a word to her as they traveled. Goodness gracious the air stunk like…manure and dead animals?

  “The air is rather ‘ripe’ here. What is the cause of it?” Lilly asked as she held her scarf up to cover her nose.

  “It’s the smell of money, Miss Lind. You get used to it. Thousands of cattle and hogs are brought in by rail to the Union Stockyards each day, then butchered at either the Amour or Swift meat packing plants situated on either side of the yards.”

  The carriage passed a gaudy looking building front with “Stockyards Emporium” painted in gold letters on a black frame with red trim.

  “Is that…” Lilly started to say before the carriage slowed and then turned the corner.

  “Yes, this is Mr. Hardesty’s business, but we’ll go around to the back alley to enter the building near his office,” the man replied, but didn’t offer any more information.

  Lilly took in the trash lying around overflowing trash barrels along the back wall, and was assaulted with the smell of rotting food. She’d been in enough back alleys in her life to be uneasy. Where were doorways, windows, balconies to watch for attacks, or if she needed an escape route?

  Lilly counted four doorways before the carriage stopped halfway down the alley. Why couldn’t the saloon have been close to a street instead of half a block down?

  “Down you go, Miss Lind,” the man said grabbing her bag, then offering her his hand to help her step down to the dirt alley. “Let’s see what the boss says about you.”

  Should I snatch my bag out of the man’s hand and run? But he firmly grabbed her elbow after opening the grimy door and pushed her through the entrance.

  Keeping Lilly in front of him, he pulled her to a stop and knocked on a closed door near the end of the hall. To the right, she viewed a large room with tables and chairs placed around a small raised stage. Looking left…oh my stars! Lilly stared at the huge painting of a naked woman lounging on a bed above fully stocked shelves of bottles and a long wooden bar with stools lined up in front of it. This IS a saloon! Why did he bring me here?!

  “Come in, Sloan,” Lilly heard a man in the room answer upon hearing the knock.

  The man, apparently named Sloan, opened the door to a spacious office with a dark wood desk, matching shelves on the wall behind and two upholstered chairs in front of the desk.

  The man sitting behind the desk rose from his leather chair when the two of them entered. His black hair was trimmed short as was his pencil–thin mustache. He looked to be in his late thirties, and dressed in a nice, tailored suit, crisp white shirt and striped tie.

  “Well, who do we have here, Sloan?” The man smiled as he advanced, holding out his hand to Lilly.

  “Your ‘mail–order bride’, Miss Lilly Lind, sir,” Sloan said with a reluctant nod.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Miss Lind. I’m Mr. Wilber Hardesty who you corresponded with.” He took Lilly’s hand, and gave it a light squeeze, before lifting his other hand, acting like he was going to caress her cheek. “You are so much more stunning in person than your photo shows.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Hardesty,” Lilly said, hoping her trembling hand in his wasn’t too noticeable.

  “Where are you from?” Hardesty dropped his hands from hers and demanded in a condescending voice. His abrupt change of greeting
was very similar to what Sloan had shown her at the depot.

  “Lawrence, Massachusetts, sir.” She was not going to be put down for her immigrant background again.

  “Before that? Sounds like you came from a Scandinavian country,” Hardesty flatly stated.

  Lilly stood a bit taller, bristling at his apparent displeasure of her origin. “I am an American who moved here from Sweden two years ago.” She had worked so hard on learning the English language, and yet he disapproved of her slight accent.

  “Yes, well, we’ll see how this works out.”

  “Mr. Hardesty, I came here to be your wife, but the welcome I’m getting doesn’t seem like it is so.” Lilly tried to stay strong, and not reveal the panic building in her chest.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Lind. I didn’t mean to upset you. I think it is best to get to know each other for a certain length of time before the ceremony, don’t you agree?”

  His answer calmed her heartbeat a tad. What was she thinking? She had imagined Mr. Hardesty meeting her at the depot, excited to meet his future bride. That illusion’s bubble popped as soon as Sloan and reality met her at the train station.

  “Yes, I do think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry if I don’t have much enthusiasm at the moment but, I’m tired…and hungry after my long trip.”

  “Didn’t you take advantage of a sleeping berth and dining car?” Hardesty asked as if shocked she hadn’t done that.

  Lilly felt a blush creep up her face. “No, your ticket was for a passenger seat only, sir…and I couldn’t afford to pay extra for those comforts.”

  “I see,” he said as the tips of his mouth turned upward as if knowing—and pleased—she had limited funds of her own?

  “Sloan, would you please summon Mrs. Mason to come into the office?” Hardesty looked at Lilly, studying her intently.

  “You are a very attractive woman. But can you sing American songs, play the piano?”

  Lilly felt uncomfortable at his change of subject. “I play instruments, but the piano isn’t one I’m proficient in. I know songs like Love’s Old Sweet Song, Lift High the Cross…”

  Hardesty actually cringed when she mentioned the Christian song. “Miss Lind, our clients prefer happy tunes, not ones they may hear in church.”

  “Why does my singing have anything to do with our marriage?” This conversation was ringing warning bells in her head.

  “Miss Lind, our business is to offer refreshments and entertainment to our customers. As part of your duties—to me and the Emporium—you’ll help out here by singing and being a hostess,” he carefully stated, as if she was a child, or a stupid immigrant who couldn’t understand English?

  “Yes, Mr. Hardesty?” A short, wiry woman with her gray hair tightly contained in a bun, interrupted their conversation. She wore black shirtwaist and skirt, so Lilly wondered if she was a widow still in mourning.

  “Yes, Mrs. Mason. I’d like you to meet Miss Lilly Lind. Would you show her to the room we talked about previously? After a brief rest, I’m sure she’d like a sandwich before coming back to meet Mr. Boswell, our…musical director.”

  Mrs. Mason turned and walked away without saying a word. After hearing Lilly wasn’t following her, she looked over her shoulder and said, “This way, Miss Lind.”

  Lilly clutched her carpet bag and followed the woman down the hallway to narrow stairs leading to the second floor.

  “There’s a grand stairway from the main room, but you are to use this staircase to access the second floor.”

  Twelve room doors, six on either side of the hallway were closed, but there were women’s voices coming from a couple of them.

  “Is this a hotel too?” Lilly asked Mrs. Mason as they stopped at the room at the end of the hall.

  “No, Miss Lind,” she answered without providing any more information. “Here is your room. There is a pitcher of water and basin ready for you to use. Please put on the blue dress you see on the wall hook after you clean up. The chamber pot is behind the screen in the corner of the room. I’ll come back in a forty–five minutes with a plate of food. And, do not go out in the hall or talk to anyone.”

  Lilly stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door the woman just departed from. What—and why stay away from other people?

  Lilly pulled at the top front of the dress, embarrassed at the lack of material to cover her shoulders properly. The satin gown had obviously been worn many times before; instead of long sleeves, it had short sleeves—which was not the proper attire for a respectable lady. Lilly had a very limited wardrobe in her bag, but she did have a white shawl which she wrapped around her shoulders and arms.

  The fifteen minute “nap” on the lumpy bed in a cold room made her more tired than rested, and her stomach still growled after eating the sandwich made out of white bread, a smear of butter and a thin slice of ham.

  She desperately needed sleep, so she hoped this “meeting” with the music person was short so she could go back to the room for a long slumber.

  “Miss Lind,” Mr. Hardesty gestured to the man on the stage, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Boswell, who will play the piano and listen to your voice. Please face him in front of the music stand and sing the song from the music sheets.” He paused before asking, “I assume you can read English music?”

  “Yes, I can. Hello, Mr. Boswell. I’m afraid my voice is not in the best shape due to my week of traveling to Chicago.” The middle–aged man looked more like a vagabond than a music director, but apparently he could play the piano.

  “That’s all right. I can still hear if you have good pitch, Miss Lind,” Mr. Boswell said as he played the song on the piano, apparently so she could listen to the tune. “Start in when I nod to you.”

  Lilly struggled to sing and follow along with the tempo the pianist played. Luckily she had heard the song before so she wasn’t totally lost reading the music.

  “Not bad—considering she’s an immigrant,” Mr. Hardesty said to Mr. Boswell, causing Lilly’s temper to rise because they were judging her status, and they were talking as if she wasn’t standing right there in front of them.

  “Let’s hear you sing an American song a cappella. Do you know what that means?” Mr. Boswell asked.

  “Yes, it means to sing without being accompanied by an instrument,” Lilly answered, trying not to snap back at him. What American song do I know by heart which I can impress them with?

  Lilly stood straight, lowered her shoulders and started clearly singing, “Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”

  After she hit the highest note right on pitch and finished the song, both gentlemen stood and clapped. “Very nice, Miss Lind, even if you are tired today.”

  The men sat down, looking at each other in thought, until Mr. Hardesty said, “The Swedish Nightingale’s last name was also Lind, correct? It’s been a few decades since Jenny Lind came to America and gave a lot of large–scale concerts for P. T. Barnum.” He twisted his mouth in thought. “You aren’t by chance a relative of hers, Miss Lind? Perhaps a cousin, or her niece?”

  “No, sir, I’m sure we are not related.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You immigrants usually change your name when you come over here. What is your Swedish name?” Mr. Hardesty raised his eyebrows questioning her.

  “Lilly Lind.” For some reason she didn’t feel safe telling him her original name.

  He nodded his head in deference to her refusal to say anything else. “Mr. Boswell, we’ll talk about this later. Miss Lind, I’m sure you’re very hungry. Let’s you and me adjourn to my office for an early dinner before the evening crowd arrives. After we eat you can go back up to your room. I’m sure you’ll look forward to a long restful sleep in a real bed tonight.”

  Lilly took his extended hand, but hesitated when he said they would dine alone. But then, if they were going to become man and wife, this was their opportunity to get to know each other. But she didn’t like the idea of working in a saloon. What would her friends from the
textile mill say about this? Hope had cautioned her about not knowing enough about the man and his business, but the matchmaking agency had checked him out and assured her he was a proper candidate for a husband.

  I hope my friends are in a better situation than I find myself in here in Chicago…

  Chapter 2

  It was late afternoon when Seth checked into the five–story, brick hotel where he was staying. It was a mile walk to the hotel in the blustery cold wind, and the closer he was to the yards nearby, the noisier and smellier the atmosphere became. The sound of thousands of animals in the yard pens was constant and almost deafening at times.

  He was accustomed to smelling cattle manure, growing up near Ellsworth, Kansas, which had been the ending point of the cattle trail drives in the 1870s. When the herds arrived early summer through late fall, they grazed in the area until they were loaded on train cars for their journey back east. There’d been tens of thousands of longhorns, along with the dust, manure and flies they brought with them. But this manure was contained in the yard pens and concentrated—and with the addition of hogs—it made his eyes water and burn.

  The American Horse Show was being held in the Exposition Building from November first through the eighth. Then the American Fat Stock Show, another week’s event starting a few days after the first show. Seth had coordinated his trip to visit the last two days of the horse show, have a few days to view stock in the stockyards, then attend the first days of the Fat Stock Show. There was a weekly horse auction in the stockyards, and he planned to buy some breeding stock at the sale, and take them back to Kansas in a livestock railcar.

  Seth was the horse breeder for the Straight Arrow Ranch, part of the Cross C Company in Ellsworth County, Kansas. Besides raising stock horses for ranch hand use, the ranch raised and sold top of the line Morgan stallions and mares.

  Isaac Connely had started the Cross C Ranch after the Civil War, using Texas longhorns for his first herd. Over time he, along with his nephew, Marcus Brenner, who took over the daily management of the ranch, crossed the longhorns with Hereford bulls. They acquired more land, now making it one of the largest ranch companies in the area with over thirty thousand acres.