Martha smiled, but it seemed like she didn’t have any desire to become further acquainted with the serpent.
Bess fried the pheasants as they visited. As promised, Martha had brought a freshly baked apple pie. “My mother taught me how to fry pheasant slowly,” Bess said. “If you do it too fast, the meat will be tough. Do it slow and it’s tender.” She carefully fried the birds, turning them every ten minutes or so, for about ninety minutes, and her thoughts wandered back to the days when as a little girl she watched Mama carefully frying chickens and pheasants on the stove.
“You’re single, Bess?” Martha asked. “Haven’t you had any suitors? I married early. Too early, I suppose. Right out of high school. I probably should have waited.”
“I never was interested in marriage,” Bess said. She didn’t feel comfortable telling Martha how she really felt. How she wasn’t attracted to men. How she had been attracted to Mary Ann. And to Linda. How the warm embrace of a woman made her tingle. She didn’t want Martha to think that she was somehow different or strange.
“We don’t talk much, Don and me,” Martha said. “Ever since we lost the baby two years ago. I’m not able to have any children … .” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bess said. “Losing a child must be a tragic feeling.” I can’t tell her that I know how she feels, thought Bess, because I don’t! I’ve never thought about motherhood. And I’ve never lost anyone close to me.
“Don’s never gotten over it,” Martha said. “He doesn’t even touch me anymore.” A sorrowful look washed over Martha’s face. “I miss being touched.”
Bess could sense the loneliness in Martha’s voice. Married, little conversation, no physical contact, she thought. It seems eerily like my life, except for being married.
Bess quickly got up and served the pheasant. “My mother had a secret seasoning recipe,” Bess said. “She would mix spices together with flour and roll the pheasant pieces in it. Like it?”
“Wonderful,” Martha said. “Share the recipe with me?”
“Of course,” Bess said as she got up from the table and cleared the dishes. “I’ll write it out for you so you can take it home.”
When they completed clearing the table and washing the dishes, Bess said, “Let’s go look around the place. Then we can have some of that apple pie.”
Together they rode around Bess’s small homestead property. Bess told Martha what she wanted to do with her homestead—buy some sheep and slowly demonstrate that she could earn enough money to prove up on her homestead--maybe even expand if she could afford it and if the proper opportunity were to present itself. Martha seemed impressed.
“You seem so … free,” Martha said in awe. “Don’t you want to have a family? Children?”
Bess paused and began to think. Raising a family, having children and focusing on just domestic responsibilities were never among my priorities— not part of my plan. Bess remembered that Mama would often talk about Bess’s eventually having a family, but Bess never really thought about it seriously. Bess didn’t want to simply say “No” to Martha, given the importance to Martha of not being able to have any more children after her miscarriage. “I’m not ready for a family yet,” she responded.
After a short ride around Bess’s homestead, they returned and had a piece of Martha’s apple pie.
“My mother made rum-raisin sauce for apple pie,” Bess said, “and I loved it. Maybe next time I can make some.”
“I would like that,” Martha said. “This has meant a lot to me.”
When they had finished, Martha gathered up her things, as it was time for her to head back home. “It’s about an hour’s ride,” she said. “Maybe I can come to call again next Sunday?”
Bess wanted to see Martha again soon, but this upcoming week would be busy. “We’ll see,” she said. “I’ll come to the church service next Sunday. I’m going to be buying some sheep, so it might be hard to do. I’d like it, though.”
Bess walked with Martha out to the shed to get her horse. Before she mounted, Martha stepped toward Bess and hugged her. The embrace was affectionate. A strange urge to kiss Martha overwhelmed her, but she felt that she might be confusing this touch with Linda’s touch. She quickly pulled away and watched as Martha mounted her horse.
“See you soon,” Martha said, then she slowly rode toward Haley. Bess stood there wondering about her feelings. She had similar feelings in Dickinson with Linda. But Martha is married, she thought. Bess walked into her house thinking about Linda … and Martha. Her thoughts were becoming a little confused. Martha’s question about children and family came to mind. She had never really considered that aspect of her life before.
Children. They simply aren’t part of the plan.
Chapter Fourteen
On Friday, Bess purchased thirty sheep from Sig Harland, all one-year-old ewes that would be ready for lambing the following spring. They were the Rambouillet breed known for excellent wool and also for meat—lamb and mutton. Bess knew that the breed was well-suited for this part of the country, and the rich and plentiful prairie grass was excellent feed. She kept them in the corral that Ken Fisher had built for her, and daily she would spend time letting them out to roam a bit in the newly fenced-in pasture.
Her experience herding sheep was valuable, as she knew how to bunch them and keep them from wandering. She would round them up on foot in the late afternoon and herd them back to the corral for the night. Her thoughts went back to the fun she had herding sheep with Buck. He would have been helpful here. Bess missed him. She thought about getting a dog, but maybe that would come later.
Bess was concerned about coyotes and the dangers they posed to the sheep, but she was told that coyotes rarely bothered sheep in a corral because of the close proximity to humans, whom they instinctively feared. At night, when she slept with her window slightly open, she could hear the coyotes yipping in the distance toward the Teepee Buttes. Sometimes the sounds would seem closer, and one night she thought the coyotes were right outside her window. she’d gotten out of bed, grabbed her rifle, and opened the door, but when she heard the yipping again, the sounds came from a distance. The coyotes weren’t near.
All throughout the week, Bess stayed busy with homesteading, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Linda and her new friend, Martha. She had strong feelings—for both. Why do I have such feelings? she wondered.
When Sunday arrived, Bess went into Haley to the church service. She had hoped to see Martha, but she was nowhere to be found. Bess felt disappointed. I wonder if she forgot, Bess thought. She didn’t know. She was disappointed, but she would try again next week.
The following Sunday Bess went to church specifically looking for Martha. Martha explained that she had been sick with a cold and unable to attend the previous week. She apologized and went with Bess to the homestead where Bess cooked some fresh fried chicken. Bess noticed that Martha had a large bruise on her right cheek. “I fell,” Martha quickly said.
“I’m sorry,” Bess said. It was a rather nasty bruise, purple and blue, and seemed a bit swollen. She fell? Bess wondered. “How did it happen?”
Martha paused for a moment. “Outside. Outside when getting water from the well. I stumbled and hit my face on the handle. Bloodied my nose, too.”
“Ouch,” Bess said. She tried to think of how she might have stumbled and hit her face on the well. Hard to do, she thought. I don’t believe that. Something else. She was probably hit. By her husband, most likely.
“Next Sunday?” asked Martha.
“Certainly,” Bess said. “Be careful this week.”
She was beginning to look forward to Martha’s visits and to what was becoming a real friendship. The bruises, Bess thought. I’m worried about her.
On Monday, Bess received a letter from Linda and it felt like her heart would burst. Linda wanted her to come to Bowman during the first weekend in September. Bess’s head was spinning after she read her letter. She answered it immediately and r
ushed into Haley to post it. The timing is perfect, she thought. It won’t be too cold. Her mind raced. They could spend almost three full days with nothing to do except get reacquainted and see if there were still those sparks that they each had felt on the train and in Dickinson just a few months ago. Linda had been in Bess’s thoughts often, and she could still see her face through the window as the Northern Pacific train left the Dickinson station that dreadful morning.
The following three weeks went by far too slowly. Bess had regular Sunday dinners with Martha and her feelings of affection for this attractive, vibrant, sensitive woman were growing. Martha was intelligent, considerate, and had similar interests as Bess. She had mentioned a love of reading, of cooking, and of music. The mention of music made Bess long for some time at a piano—playing Papa’s favorite songs. Martha said that she didn’t play the piano.
Bess was becoming worried about Martha, however, because she seemed to be prone to injury. First the bruise on her face, then the bruises on her arms. Those weren’t accidents, Bess thought. Martha was becoming quite affectionate with Bess, and several times Bess felt that Martha wanted to kiss her. Bess was tempted to become more affectionate as well, but wondered if her feelings were of attraction, or more of sympathy and wanting to give Martha comfort. She wasn’t sure. Maybe a combination of both.
Finally, one Sunday afternoon in late August after they had dinner, Bess sat down on the small bench near the table and Martha sat next to her. Martha lifted her gaze, looked Bess directly in the eyes, moved her head forward, and kissed Bess. Softly—on the lips.
Bess blushed at first, but Martha put her arms around her and they kissed again. The feeling was warm and affectionate. They held each other in silence for several minutes. Martha had tears in her eyes and she was silently crying. Bess held her tightly and gently rubbed her back. Martha looked up at her, then leaned in. Their lips touched softly again. Bess caressed the back of neck and ran her fingers through Martha’s hair, but then she quickly stopped and pulled back. She was confused. She enjoyed the sensation of the kiss. But she had feelings of guilt—thoughts of Linda rushed through her mind.
“Martha,” Bess said, breathless, “you’re married.”
Martha was silent for a few moments. “Not really,” she said. “I don’t have this.” She put her head on Bess’s shoulder.
This? Bess wondered.
“Want to talk about it?” Bess said.
“Not really,” Martha said.
They sat there for a few moments in silence, then Martha quickly got up and said, “What time is it? It’s getting late. I must go!”
“Martha, is Don hitting you?” Bess asked bluntly.
Martha was silent and crying softly. She didn’t answer.
Bess didn’t ask again. She felt that Martha’s silence was answer enough.
Martha left shortly thereafter. Bess could sense a feeling of hopelessness in this beautiful woman. There was little she could do about what amounted to her being abused by Don other than try to make her comfortable when they were together. Bess’s feelings were becoming complex, between what was becoming an emotional bond and more and more a real physical concern for Martha.
And what about Linda? I’ll be reuniting with her in Bowman later in the week, she thought. Her feelings for Linda were very strong, but she didn’t know if those feelings would be the same when they saw each other again. That worried her. What will Linda be feeling? she wondered. What will I be feeling? Will there be the same mutual attraction? Feelings of guilt about her affection for Martha washed over her.
Chapter Fifteen
Shortly before sunup, on Thursday, September 3, Bess saddled up Annabel and set off for Bowman—about twenty-five miles to the north. She was excited. I’m going to see Linda, she thought. Finally! It had been so long since April in Dickinson that Bess was struggling to remember exactly how Linda looked. Beautiful. Stunning. Sensual. Blue eyes! she thought.
Bess had made arrangements with Ken Fisher to take care of the sheep and feed the chickens while she would be gone until late Sunday afternoon. Ken was very dependable and Bess had no cause to worry. She knew the ride would take about six hours if she didn’t push it, and wanted to arrive in Bowman in the mid-afternoon so she would be able to secure a comfortable room in the hotel and be fresh for Linda’s arrival on Friday.
On the way to Bowman, traveling at a comfortable pace, Bess passed several ranches, some of which had very large threshing machines at work threshing their wheat and oats crops. The huge machines took several men to operate not only the thresher but the giant steam engine that was powering the long belt connected to the machine. Someone in Haley had told Bess that there was a man who owned a large thirty-two horsepower Reeves steam engine, but she didn’t know if the ones she saw were the Reeves engines. They were very tall, almost two stories high, and the threshing machines stirred up a lot of dust. There was a haze of golden-brown dust from quite a distance from where they were working.
The machine would thresh the grain and throw the straw into a huge pile while the grain poured through a long spout into a wagon that had been placed alongside. It was certainly an easy way to take care of wheat, rye, or oat crops, and Bess wondered if she would eventually have a large ranch and be able to afford to hire someone who had such machinery to bring in her own crops! That is, if she ever decided to grow any grain crops.
The long ride to Bowman gave Bess plenty of time to think. There is so much I don’t know about Linda, she thought. So much I want to learn. I wonder what she feels about me. What makes her happy? What makes her sad? What is her favorite color—blue, I’ll bet.
Bess smiled at the thought. Does she like music? Ice cream? The questions she wanted to ask seemed endless. So much to learn about her—probably not enough time to ask all the questions. What does she want to know about me? Do I dare tell her how much I have missed her? How I loved her touch? Our embraces? Just being together? Do I dare tell her about Martha? No. It’s better that I don’t. She mulled these questions over and over as she rode toward Bowman. Maybe if I go faster I’ll see her sooner! She laughed at the thought, but nudged Annabel into a trot.
North of Bowman, there were clear, visible landmarks—two large buttes called the Twin Buttes. They seemed almost identical in size, and were long with flat tops. They sat side by side, one west and the other just east. They were a couple of miles away from the town and on the road north. Bess thought it might be fun if she and Linda rode up there and maybe even hiked to the top of one of them.
Bowman was a new town, but it was growing fast. It was a major stop for the east and westbound Milwaukee Road trains where they could take on coal and water. It was located just a little north and east of the center of Bowman County and that made hauling grain, cattle, and wool for shipment east convenient for the local ranchers. Bess thought it had prospects of growing to a much larger town like Dickinson.
Bess rode down the main street toward the train station at the north end of town, where various shops and offices lined each side of the street. Many of the storefronts looked similar in their structure—all made of wood and each having a high front with a small ledge at the top of the building. Some were single-story buildings and others were two stories. There was a large banner stretched clear across the street between two opposite stores that said “Bowman Welcomes You.” Bess smiled and felt welcome.
There were several men on each side of the street, many wearing suits with white shirts and ties, and all of them wearing hats. Their clothing was either dark brown or charcoal. Some of the men were wearing work clothing: coveralls with calico or flannel shirts. Bowman looked like a busy, healthy little town.
On the right of the main street, there was an eight-mule team pulling two large wagons that had what appeared to be several very large and stuffed sacks of wool, each sack being about ten feet long and about three feet in diameter. Someone had probably sold some wool that had been in storage, because shearing sheep occurred only in the late
spring.
There was a new hotel at the north end of the main street on the left with a sign that read “Carter Hotel.” Bess stopped, tied Annabel up to the hitching post out front, went in, and rented a large room until Sunday. The hotel clerk told her it was the biggest room they had. Bess thought Linda would like it because the window that opened to the north provided a good view of the Twin Buttes. They seemed so close; it was almost as if they would be able to reach out and touch them.
Bess was filled with excitement and had trouble sleeping. I can’t wait to see her, she thought. I can remember every detail about Dickinson. It was so right. So beautiful. She closed her eyes tightly, but sleep didn’t come. For what she thought was several hours—she didn’t know how long—she lay awake thinking and dreaming. Finally she slept. Soundly.
The train station in Bowman was only about one hundred yards from the Carter Hotel, and after breakfast Friday morning, Bess went to the depot almost an hour before Linda’s train was due to arrive. The time couldn’t pass quickly enough, and she found herself walking into the small depot frequently to check the clock on the wall near the ticket agent. There were several people waiting for the train, including a couple with three small children. Bess wondered where they were going.
Eleven o’clock came and went with no sign of the eastbound train. Where is the train? she wondered. This waiting game wasn’t helping her overcome the anxiety she felt about seeing Linda again. At approximately half-past eleven, she heard the distinct sound of a train whistle coming from the west. Excited, Bess walked to the edge of the platform and watched as the oncoming engine pulled into the station. It’s coming! she thought with excitement. The train chugged into the station slowly, huffing and billowing steam, and when it stopped, the engine let out a loud hiss. Bess walked back to the burnt-orange, brown, and black-painted passenger cars and looked through the clear windows but she didn’t see Linda. She’s probably sitting on the other side, she thought.
Bess: A Pioneer Woman's Journey of Courage, Grit and Love Page 13