Rimfire Bride (3 page)

He laughed. Could Elfrieda Considine be considered a nanny?

The boys and he had been without a woman’s presence for two years now. Two painful, lonely years, he thought, and returned to his seat behind the desk.

July 4, 1880

F
rom
the
Bismarck Tribune
:

FOURTH OF JULY

The committee on grounds has prepared what is pronounced by competent judges to be the finest race course in the territory, and the speakers’ stand, seats, refreshment booths, official headquarters, the barrels for ice water, the bandstand, decorations, etc., are so nearly completed as to afford the most positive assurance that nothing will be lacking by July the 4th.

Cannon from Fort Lincoln will be fired at intervals during the day, and the combined bands of Bismarck (eighteen pieces) will furnish excellent music.

At 10:00 p.m. the grand pyrotechnic display will be held. The citizens of Bismarck
can expect a glorious birthday celebration, as it has been reported that the good merchants have put up $1,000 for this extravaganza.

When the marshals
were assembling to head the parade, Drew Malone, who was one of the parade marshals, took his place beside Clement Lounsberry, the editor of the
Bismarck Tribune,
and Sheriff Alex McKenzie.

“You’ve done a great job promoting this celebration,” Drew said to Lounsberry. “Look at all the people. They’re everywhere.”

“I’m doing my damnedest,” Colonel Lounsberry said. “I want the Territorial Legislature to move the capital from Yankton to Bismarck, and it’s events like this that will get the word out. Anybody here will spread the word that we’re the town to watch.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling having so many folks in town. I’ll bet there’s at least twenty-five thousand people here, and when that many congregate, you know there’s going to be trouble,” Alex McKenzie said.

“I think you and your men can handle it,” Drew said.

“That’s why we keep electing you sheriff,” Lounsberry added.

“But this is different. You get all these people liquored up and bunched together. I don’t like it, not at all.”

When the marshals
had walked the length of the parade route, Drew hurried back to join his wife,
Addie, and their two children, who were sitting on a quilt spread out on the boardwalk in front of Drew’s office. A sign in gold leaf was painted on the door:
PARTNERS, FRANK B. ALLEN & ANDREW B. MALONE, ATTORNEYS AT LAW.

Four-year-old Sam was sitting patiently, watching everything that was going on, while Benji, who was two, was making the acquaintance of a stray dog that had wandered up on the boardwalk.

“Stop it, Benji. Leave that mangy old thing alone,” Addie said as she moved the boy to another spot. But as soon as she sat down again, Benji went after the dog.

“Here, doggie, here, doggie,” Benji said as he jumped off the boardwalk, falling onto the street. When he did, his face puckered up, but he did not cry.

“Now look what you’ve done. Can’t you sit still like your brother?” Addie helped Benji to his feet and began to brush the coal cinders off his knees. “Where’s your father?”

“I’m here,” Drew said as he approached his family.

“Good. You take him. I should have kept them both at home,” Addie said.

“But Sam would have missed seeing the callithumpian band if you would have done that.” Drew picked up his younger son and put him on his shoulders. “Now you can’t get in any trouble, little man.”

Benji began to run his hands through Drew’s thick brown hair, making it stand up in stiff tufts.

Addie shook her head as she watched her son.
“What am I going to do with him? He’s going to be the death of me yet.”

Drew put the boy back down. “You stay here with Sam, and Benji and I’ll go find something to eat. I’ll bet someone has ice cream. What do you think?”

“Don’t give him ice cream. That’ll be all he’ll eat if you do that.”

“Addie, it’s the Fourth of July. That’s what you do. You eat ice cream and you have a good time. Don’t worry, we’ll bring you some, too,” he said with a wink.

Just then a stovepipe cornet band, a washboiler drum corps, and a squeegee orchestra passed in front of them.

“Sam, look. The callithumpians. Clap your hands.”

Sam flashed a big grin at his father and began clapping as the men passed in front of him. One of the squeegee men ran over to the young boy, as if attempting to wipe his face, eliciting a squeal of laughter from Sam.

“Boys, come with me. You can help me find ice cream.”

Drew and his sons began moving through the crowd, speaking to first one person and then another. Drew was well-known in Bismarck. He had come out from Evanston, Illinois, in 1878 to handle land claims for the Northern Pacific Railway and had joined Frank Allen in a law partnership. Now, with more and more talk of statehood for the Dakota Territory, Clement Lounsberry and Alex McKenzie were talking to Drew about the possibility of his standing for Congress.

His father had long been a congressman from Illinois, and Drew had grown up going back and forth to Washington. He was particularly interested in it now, especially since Addie had just made it known that she was pregnant again.

When Benji came along, he was truly a handful. Drew had already decided he would surprise Addie by hiring a full-time girl to come live with them. Many upstanding immigrant girls were coming into Bismarck every day, some wanting to homestead themselves, and others just wanting to earn money to help their parents prove up their claim. Addie would like that he’d been thoughtful and love the help.

When the parade
was over, Addie joined Drew and the children near the refreshment stands. Addie’s prediction had been accurate; after the ice cream Sam wasn’t interested in eating anything else, but finally accepted a piece of pilot bread and some cheese, while Benji was eagerly eating a cruller that was slathered with a sugary glaze.

“Andrew Malone, I’m not going to let you take care of them ever again. You just give them anything they want.”

“I’ll be good, Mama, I’ll never do it again,” Drew said as he gave Addie a kiss.

“Drew, someone will see you.” Addie looked around to see who might be standing nearby that would know her.

“I can kiss my wife anytime I want to.” He kissed her again as he drew her to him and held her.

Drew had never thought of any woman but
Addie. They had known each other since childhood, having grown up next door to one another. Drew’s father, Samuel Malone, was a US congressman who spent most of his time in Washington, and Addie’s father, Eli Denton, was a professor at Northwestern University. Drew and Addie’s relationship was, and had always been, comfortable because it had been assumed by both families that they would marry someday. They were married soon after Drew graduated from law school at Northwestern, and Sam, their perfect child, was born within a year. Then Benji, their wild child, was born two years after that. They were a happy couple, a happy family.

“I want that,” Benji said as he grabbed at Sam’s hardtack. “It’s mine.” He tried to take the cracker as Sam, with much patience and practice, kept turning away from his brother, protecting his food.

“I think he’s had enough. If he’s going to be up for the fireworks tonight, he’d better take a nap,” Drew said. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I’ll take him. I know how much you like this stuff.”

“Let me go with you. If I carry him, Benji may fall asleep on the way home and then we can just put him in bed.”

“All right. Sam and I may lie down, too, when we get home, right, Son?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam answered.

When the family
was within a block of home, they were met by an excited Sheriff McKenzie.

“Drew, you’d better get over to the glass-ball
shoot. When I left, Major Bates was closing in on the record Fritz Kimball shot at St. Paul,” the sheriff said.

“How many has the major hit?”

“When I left, it was 236, and the record is 245. This is the first time we’ve used Mole’s trap to throw up the balls. That’s the key. If we keep that thing and practice, our team will beat Mandan every time.”

“I’d love to see him break the record, but . . .” Drew looked to Addie.

“Go ahead. I can get them home from here, and if Benji has to walk the rest of the way, he’ll be really tired,” Addie said.

“Thanks, honey.” Drew put Benji on the ground. “I’ll be home as soon as the major misses.”

“You don’t have to. Like I said, I need to lie down, too.”

Addie took Benji by the hand and started to lead him down the street.

Drew and the
sheriff had walked no more than half a block away when Drew heard Sam’s scream, the scream that had brought him and the sheriff back to the scene. Addie lay prostrate on the ground, blood gushing from her neck, as Sam cried, “Mama, Mama, Mama,” over and over. Benji was, uncharacteristically, trying to comfort Sam. “Shuuuu, Sam, Mama’s sleeping.”

Drew cradled the dying Addie in his arms, her blood soaking his shirt as he applied pressure to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He remembered Alex saying, “Your boys need you, Drew, I’ll
take care of Addie,” but Drew, tears flowing down his cheeks, would not put his wife down.

Her final words were: “Get a good woman to take care of my boys. I love you.” And then she died.

They never found out whose stray bullet hit her.

Chicago, Illinois—September 1882

Early Sunday morning, the Illinois Central rolled into Chicago’s Great Central Depot, where Jana and Greta left the train. The depot was crowded, and for an instant Jana was terrified. Chicago was a city of over half a million people, yet her mother had confidence that she could find one person among the multitudes. What if this cousin—this Marie Gunter, whom her mother had not seen in fourteen years—didn’t even live in Chicago anymore?

Jana felt for the cloth pouch that contained the savings that she was sure had taken her mother years to put aside. It was safely in her pocket. If she couldn’t find her cousin, she had more than enough money to go back home.

No, she had enough money to go back to Highland. She would not think of the farm as her home ever again. If she dwelled on that, she could not do what she knew she had to do. She would protect Greta no matter what it took.

Greta was staring at everything around her much as a child would, and when they stepped out into the crisp autumn air, Greta smiled. “Look, Jana.” Greta pointed toward the sun rising over Lake Michigan. “Isn’t it beautiful? I know when we
find Mama’s cousin, we’re going to love Chicago. Could we walk down to the water right now?”

Jana looked up at the street signs and located them on Randolph Street and Michigan Avenue. She withdrew the money pouch from her pocket and looked at the letter her mother had asked her to give to Cousin Marie. Marie’s address was on the envelope.

“Let’s wait until we find Cousin Marie. Maybe she doesn’t live too far from the lake and we can come here for a picnic sometime.” Jana checked the address on the envelope. “Mama says she lives on Forty-Seventh Street. All we have to do is find someone who will take us there.”

Several cabs were standing in front of the depot, and when the two women approached one of them, the driver stepped off the box.

“Where to, ladies? I’m happy to have you grace my humble hack.” The driver opened the door and Jana and Greta climbed in.

“Thank you. We’re not sure where we’re going, but the address is 1724 West Forty-Seventh Street near Ashland Avenue. Can you take us there?”

The expression on the driver’s face changed from an open smile to one of what Jana thought was pity. “Oh, miss, I can’t take you there.”

“Why not?” Greta asked.

“Taking folks where they want to go is how I make a living, and it would take me a long time to get you there, and if I did get you there, no one would want to pay me to come back. I’ll tell you what I’ll do though. I’ll take you to the horsecar line on Ashland, and you can ride it until you get
to Forty-Seventh. Then you won’t have far to go.”

The driver closed the door and climbed back up on the box, flicked the lines, and the horse pulled away from the depot and headed down Randolph.

Greta reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank you, Jana, thank you for taking me away from all that work. I know you’ll find a school that will have students that are smarter and cuter than you would ever have in Highland, and I’m going to find a job—oh, what will I be? Do you think I could be a telegrapher? Or maybe I’ll work in a tearoom or maybe I’ll be a milliner. I just can’t wait to get to Cousin Marie’s.”

When the driver got to Ashland Avenue, he stepped down and opened the door for Jana and Greta.

“Here it is, ladies. There’ll be a horsecar going south on these tracks before you know it. Just get on it and ride until you come to Forty-Seventh Street. Once you get there, it’ll just be a couple of blocks until you get to the seventeen hundreds.”

“Thank you, sir. You have been most kind to us. What do we owe you?” Jana asked, withdrawing her pouch.

“Nothing.”

“But that can’t be. This is how you make your living,” Jana said.

“Let this be my gift to you, so that you always remember the first person you dealt with in Chicago was a kind man.”

A smile crossed Jana’s face. “That is very nice of you, sir, and I will gladly accept your kindness.”

Just then a horsecar appeared.

“Here’s your ride, ladies, and good luck.” The driver tipped his hat and turned his rig around, waving as he did so.

Several men were sitting on benches around the sides of the car, but no women. One man approached them to take their fare, which they learned was a nickel no matter how far they rode. Jana and Greta chose a bench near the front so they could observe all the sights along the way.

When they first left the depot, they had been filled with awe over the magnificent buildings and the well-dressed people going about their business. But after they boarded the car, the scenery began to change, and not for the better.