Sixteen Brides (13 page)

Ella blushed at the unexpected praise. If Will Haywood knew how very much she had “missed” in the past, he wouldn’t have that admiring look on his face right now. Still, it was nice to be complimented. She pressed her point. “But the Homestead Act specifically says that each head of household can claim exactly a hundred and sixty acres.”

“Right again.” Haywood nodded. “And so, to get around that limitation, family members sometimes file on adjoining homesteads. In the eyes of the law, the land belongs to two different people, but practically speaking, it’s one big spread. That’s what you see at Mr. Cooper’s place. Technically, Mr. Cooper’s barn isn’t really on the homestead he purchased from Matthew Ransom.”

Ella frowned. “So will Mr. Cooper have to build a new barn?”

“I haven’t heard if that’s going to be a problem or not.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out. Matthew and his cousin came out here together and filed on their places on the same day. The plan was for Matthew’s place to supply the hay and crops and his cousin to run cattle. The plan was also for them both to be rich within ten years.” Haywood paused. “It just might have worked, too.”

“Why didn’t it?” Sally called out from the back.

Ella glanced behind her. The ladies in the wagon bed were all looking at Will, waiting for him to answer Sally’s question. To Ella’s mind, Will looked like a man trying to formulate a partial answer. Thinking about something he shouldn’t say. Or didn’t want to. She’d seen that look on Milton’s face a thousand times. Whatever Will said next, it wouldn’t be the whole truth.

When Will finally answered Sally’s question, all he said was, “Lots of things, I suppose. The main thing was Katie. When she died, all those plans died with her.” He slapped the reins and told his team to “Giddap.”

He wasn’t rude about it, but it was clear Will Haywood didn’t care to say any more about Matthew Ransom’s past. Ella sighed. It was a shame when family couldn’t get along. It happened far too often. As the wagon trundled across the spring prairie, Ella pondered the idea that had begun to form in her mind. She glanced up at the sky and toward the horizon and took a deep breath of fresh air. Nebraska made her smile. Mr. Cooper was right. It was important to have good neighbors. If Ella’s plan worked out, both she and Mr. Cooper would have several.

CHAPTER
NINE

Two are better than one;
because they have a good reward for their labour.

ECCLESIASTES 4:9

E
lla and Zita stood arm in arm looking down on the sweeping prairie before them. Zita said the few spots of remaining snow reminded her of white sails on a sea of pale green grass. Ella nodded at the metaphor even as she bent down and thrust her fingers into the grass, marveling at the thickness of it, the softness of it, the incredible vision it must be waving in the wind against a blue summer sky. She stood back up and gazed into the distance at the miracle springing from the soil. Just where the rolling plain before her began to rise toward the far-off horizon stood one towering cottonwood tree, with a trunk that three long-armed men might have trouble circumventing with outstretched arms.

“No one really understands how it could still be here,” Will said. “Obviously the spring is the water source, but it’s still a pure miracle that it hasn’t been cut down. Overlanders have taken every stick of available firewood for miles on either side of both trails west, and the Platte’s not that far south of us. But that tree still stands. You can imagine it’s a familiar landmark to everyone from around here. Foraging cattle have rubbed off some of the bark, but it just keeps growing.”

The other ladies were just now climbing down from the wagon behind them, and Ella was glad, for she was barely winning the battle to keep from weeping with joy. Mama squeezed her hand. Dear Mama. She knew. Together, they walked through the damp grass, and as they walked, Ella thought of her new friends, of the places they came from, and what they might be thinking now that Ella was about to claim a homestead. Perhaps it was misguided to put words into their mouths, but Ella almost felt that in these past few days she had come to know these women well enough to hear their thoughts.

Ruth would be especially glad for that tree. Ella had seen the way her hand had lingered over the remains of the flowers on Jeb’s window ledge and heard her exclaim over the early spring wildflowers just beginning to bloom.

Nervous little Hettie would likely find the broad expanse of prairie and sky almost frightening. She might contest Ella’s idea of building near the cottonwood tree. “Wh-what if a storm brings down one of those limbs onto the roof?” she would say. And she would have a point, Ella thought as she continued to stride alongside Mama toward the place where Will paced, his head down, intent on finding boundary markers.

Jackson ran past them, his cheeks flushed, his head thrown back as he hollered and whooped. When a rabbit bounded out in front of him from behind a tumbleweed, Jackson tried to swerve, but then tripped, rolled, and sprang up again, laughing and flailing his arms up and down, a youthful hawk soaring low across the earth.

If she wasn’t already thinking on which of Martha Haywood’s fabrics to use for Jeb Cooper’s shirts, Sally was undoubtedly envisioning chicks everywhere, following their mother hens as they pecked and scratched. She might be thinking on wolves and coyotes, as well. It was easy to envision Sally, her feet planted, her apron blowing in the wind, raising a shotgun to her shoulder and pulling the trigger as she swore at some varmint that had the temerity to threaten her flock.

Caroline, who had climbed down with the rest but was lingering near the wagon nursing her sprained ankle, was the hardest one to predict in all of this. She was the one who still gave Ella pause. It was hard for a woman who looked in the mirror and hated what she saw to be friends with someone like Caroline. Men had nearly fallen over themselves at the dance last Friday night in their eagerness to serve her lemonade or coffee or to just sit beside her. Only Jeb Cooper paid Ella any mind, and that was only after she’d gone back to the dance after helping Caroline and Mama back to the Immigrant House, and only because she wanted to talk about homesteading.

Mama was right about Caroline, though. Underneath the pin tucks and lace there really was a backbone. What’s more, a wide streak of true kindness ran beneath the flattering smiles and the charm. If for no other reason than Caroline’s kindness to Sally and young Jackson, Ella would have liked her. In spite of the tiny waist and all the rest. So while Ella might not be quite sure what Caroline was thinking as she stood back there by the wagon, she was hoping the thoughts tended toward the positive.

As she watched the others and tried to predict their reactions to this place, Ella and Mama continued to walk toward the little spring bubbling up out of the grass and trickling toward a small clear watering hole. Suddenly Ella tripped. On a stake. When she looked down at it in disbelief, Mama scolded softly, “Don’t look so shocked,
cara mia
. You don’t think God could lead you to something he had made certain was pounded in the ground he created just so his Ella could find it?”

Ella shrugged. “It’s not a matter of
could
he, Mama,” she said, and once again the tears threatened. “I just didn’t think he
would
.”

“So,” Mama said, looking up at her. “What do you think now?”

Ella’s voice broke as she whispered, “I think I’m home.”

Dawn was some time away, but Ella couldn’t sleep. She’d been awake for what felt like hours, working things out in her mind. She wanted to make her plan sound simple for the others, but if she’d learned anything from her life with Milton, even running an established farm in Missouri wasn’t ever simple. Creating one out here in Nebraska would be a daunting task involving challenges that would begin the day a body set foot on their own land and likely end only when that body followed in the way of Katie Ransom. Just contemplating the largeness of the challenge made Ella tremble. With joy.

Joy. How about that?
She’d almost forgotten how it felt to be excited about life. To be happy. Of course, Will Haywood had thought she was a little crazy when she asked to visit with him over at the mercantile last night. He’d been polite about it, but Ella could tell from the minute she started asking questions that his initial thoughts were that she was a bit daft. After all, he’d just told her about a similar arrangement that didn’t work out at all. And those folks had been related. Ella’s plan involved several women who’d been strangers only a week ago.

“Well, now,” Will had drawled, leaning back against the mercantile counter and considering her idea. “I suppose it
could
work.” He repeated some of the figures he’d shared as they rode back to Plum Grove last evening. “A yoke of oxen will run you about two hundred dollars. A milk cow or two is another hundred. Shoats run five. Hens are fifty cents.”

“I already have the hens,” Ella reminded him.

“So you do.”

“What if I don’t buy oxen? Are there homesteaders who would hire out to do my plowing?”

Martha put her hand over Will’s and said, “Most charge about five dollars an acre to cut sod. The house you saw today is about what you can expect to build from that acre. You’ll need considerably more.” She smiled. “You should ask Mr. Cooper if he’d be interested in hiring on to do the sod-busting.”

Ella shook her head. “He has too much to do already. He said as much today.”

“He said he was too busy to turn sod for you?”

“Well, not exactly.”

Martha nodded. “Then you should ask. He might be offended if you made other arrangements when he’s right there nearby—at least as we all define ‘near.’” She glanced at Will. “You could ride up Luke’s way, too. See if he could spare a few hands for a building bee.”

Ella didn’t care for that idea. First there was the notion that Lowell Day worked for the man. Second was Ella’s firm belief that a man as beautiful as Lucas Gray could not be trusted. On the other hand, if he could spare some good men willing to do what they were told for fair pay, Ella supposed she could get past the square jaw and the swagger. Still, to her mind, one Jeb Cooper was worth a dozen Lucas Grays.

Finally, Ella gave up on sleeping. Rising and dressing in the dark, she made her way down the Immigrant House hallway toward the kitchen. Once there she lit a single lamp and sat down at the table. In the golden circle of lamplight she began to maneuver saltshakers, sugar cubes, and coffee mugs, placing them in a dozen different configurations until finally she realized that the simplest plan was probably the best. She glanced toward the dormitory.
Now, if only the others will agree.

It would be dawn soon. Setting the saltshakers and other things aside, Ella rose and lit more lamps. They had been eating their meals over in Martha Haywood’s dining hall, but this morning would be different. This morning they had business to discuss.

Ella had just mixed up the flapjack batter when Mama slipped into the kitchen, still in her wrapper. “I can’t sleep, either.” She reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll get this started.”

“You should be resting,” Ella protested.

“I can rest when I’m dead. Now leave the door open so the lamps light my way to the water pump.” Ella followed Mama outside and collected an armful of firewood. “Isn’t it wonderful to have a pump right here by the back door?” Mama said. “We’ll have one, too. Oh! Maybe we can even have a pump
inside.
That would be even better!”

“If the water table allows for it,” Ella agreed, “it
would
be wonderful.” She couldn’t help but smile. Already Mama was planning for indoor plumbing in the wilderness. Next she would want a water closet. Ella chuckled at the idea of such a thing attached to a sod house. That would have to wait for the next house. The farmhouse that was already dancing in her dreams.
Dreams for another day. Stop riding clouds and come back to earth, Ella.

Jackson arrived first, rubbing his eyes as he stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at the table. “Breakfast is here today?”

“It is,” Mama said, and waved him into a chair. “Wait until you taste my Ella’s flapjacks.” She leaned close. “Mrs. Morris’s don’t hold a candle to my Ella’s. You’ll see.”

“Mama,” Ella scolded gently. “Mrs. Morris’s flapjacks taste fine.”

“They do,” Mama agreed. “As long as a person doesn’t mind cutting their flapjacks with a sharp knife.”

“Oh, Mama . . .” Ella shook her head. The truth was she’d heard complaints about Mavis’s flapjacks. Martha had put Helen in charge of the griddle over at the dining hall. Ah, well, it gave Mavis something new to complain about, and everybody knew Mavis thrived on grousing.

A bleary-eyed Sally stumbled in next, going first to the stove and peering down at Ella’s flapjacks before mumbling, “Thank goodness. I didn’t think I could face another dining hall disaster.”

Before long everyone was seated at the table laughing and joking about Ella’s saving them from Mavis’s cooking. When Mama elbowed her, Ella sat down at the head of the table.

“All right,” Sally said, gesturing with her fork. “We all know you got somethin’ up your sleeve. So let’s hear what it is.”

“I’ll take over the griddle,” Ruth said, heading for the stove even as Jackson cleared his plate—for the second time.

Looking around the table, Ella placed her palms on either side of her plate. “All right,” she said. “I begin with this: I believe in my heart that it will work, but there will be no hard feelings if any one of you disagrees. Even if you agree that it will work, but you simply don’t want to do it, that is fine, too.” She hesitated.

“Hard to know if we want to do ‘it’ until we know what ‘it’ is.” Sally yawned.

Ella nodded. “All right.” She took her knife and fork and laid them at right angles in front of her plate. “Imagine the table is a section of land. The knife and the fork represent the imaginary lines established when Dawson County was surveyed. Four homesteads meet exactly here.” She balanced a lump of sugar over the intersection of knife and fork. “And this—” she upended a small empty cracker tin and settled it over the lump of sugar—“this is a house. A sod house like the one we saw yesterday. But it’s only the main room. Stove, table and chairs, cupboard”—she glanced at Sally—“perhaps a sewing machine by the window.”

“Where’s the chicken coop?” Sally joked, and the women chuckled.

“Now this,” Ella said, and looked around the table, “is where each of you comes in.” She added two more small tins, one to either end of the box in the center, balancing them on the knife. Putting one hand atop each of those small tins, she explained, “These are the bedroom wings added on either side of the living space. As you can see, someone who sleeps on this side of this bedroom”—she traced a line down the edge of one box—“would technically be sleeping on a different homestead than the person sleeping over here—” and she traced a line down the opposite side of the same box.

Ruth spoke up. “So this arrangement would allow four people to prove up on four different homesteads while they shared the main part of a house.”

“Exactly.” Ella nodded. She sat back and waited for the others to ponder the idea.

Mama spoke up as she reached between Caroline and Sally to refill their coffee mugs. “ ‘Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour.’ The wisest man who ever lived said that. If two are better than one, what could six accomplish if they worked together?”