Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “No,” Silsby said, pouring himself a cup of whiskey. “It was just like you said.”

  Dennis took a sip of beer. “Old Sefton Duncan is one cranky son of a bitch. Remember how he used to yell at us when the Rocking H cattle got too close to his fields?”

  “We should have run that squaw man off back then,” Charlie said, forgetting that the object of Silsby’s romantic intentions was half-Indian herself. “He didn’t have no more right to be there than the Boomers.”

  Silsby looked around. “Where’s Tommy?”

  “He’s staying in town,” Dennis said. “He finally admitted to hisself that he just cain’t talk to a gal ‘less’n she’s a whore.”

  “Well, you ain’t gonna poke none of these farm gals at a dance, that’s for sure,” Silsby said.

  “Tommy is shy as hell around reg’lar women,” Charlie said. “He’ll stand in front of some nice girl and get all red in the face. He stammers so much she cain’t understand a word he’s trying to say. But let him get in a room with some saloon gal he’s never seen before and he peels hisself out of his pants quicker’n a wink.”

  “Yeah,” Silsby said. “Maybe I’ll go to town and get drunk with Tommy and go in the back room with one of them whores myself.”

  “You should stay here, Silsby,” Charlie counseled. “They’s a whole lot of gals in this world. I bet you’ll find another’un that’s ever pertier than Mildred Duncan.”

  “Maybe,” Silsby said. He glanced up and saw Stella Duncan come in on a farm wagon with some other young people. She was the last person in the world he wanted to see. He walked over to the far side of the barn and found a seat on an overturned milk bucket.

  Charlie let him sit by himself a few minutes, then joined him. “You’ll get your new suit all dirty, Silsby.”

  “I don’t give a mule’s pecker.”

  “You’re feeling bad, ain’t you, pard?”

  “Yeah,” Silsby admitted. “But they ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

  “If you really like Mildred Duncan, maybe you should run off with her,” Charlie said. “But that’s only if you wanted to marry her.”

  Silsby said nothing.

  “Do you care about her that much?”

  “I don’t know,” Silsby replied. There was no way he could express his real feelings for Mildred to Charlie. “Shit! She’s a perty gal and I wanted to take her to dances and maybe go see her at her house now and again. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Nope,” Charlie said. “But do like I said and look for another’un.”

  “I ain’t in the mood.”

  “I reckon you might be right about going back to Kensaw and spending the evening with Tommy,” Charlie opined. “Getting drunk and dallying in the back room of the hotel might be just what you need right now.”

  “I don’t need nothing. Not now or any other time.”

  “Sure,” Charlie said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Silsby watched Charlie walk back to the other drinkers, his mood growing darker. He finished his whiskey but didn’t feel like having another drink. The young man sat in numb misery, watching the party begin, wishing he could have a dance with Mildred. He had even hoped to kiss her before the evening was over.

  The music started up and the noise increased as more people kept arriving. Silsby, unnoticed by the others, remained in the shadows unable to decide what he really wanted to do to pass the evening.

  “There you are!”

  Silsby looked up to see Mildred’s best friend Mary Lemmons looking at him intently. “Hello.”

  “I got something for you,” she said, reaching into the folds of her skirt. “From Mildred.”

  Silsby’s disposition and interest immediately perked up.

  “She sent you a note,” Mary said. “I visited her this afternoon and she was crying her heart out ’cause her pa wouldn’t let her see you no more.”

  Silsby anxiously unfolded the note, his eyes sweeping across the lines:

  Deer Silsbee my pa wont let me go to no more danses I am sadd about it I told Mery to give you this meet me in my barn tonit I will bee there when I can bee kerful Mildred.

  “She spelled my name wrong,” Mary said.

  “She spelled mine wrong too,” Silsby said, grinning. “Fact of the matter, it’s kind of hard to make out exactly what she’s saying. It don’t matter though. This note puts me in a real good frame of mind.”

  Mary looked around to make sure Stella was nowhere nearby. “You can reach the barn from them windbreaker trees to the south. Mildred said you should leave your horse there and go into the back of the barn and up into the loft. She wanted you to come over there as quick as you can.”

  “I’ll sure do that,” Silsby said. “But what about her pa?”

  “He gets dead drunk just about ever’ night,” Mary said. “She’ll make sure her pa starts drinking and that the dawg stays inside with him.” She smiled at Silsby. “She really likes you a heap.”

  His grin widened. “I got to go. It’s already dark.”

  Silsby, feeling absolutely wonderful, went directly to his horse. He happily pulled himself up into the saddle, and rode off toward the Duncan farm. The moon was obscured a bit by clouds as he broke into a rapid canter, heading back down the road. He pulled off the dirt thoroughfare and headed for the trees that he could barely see through the gloom of the night.

  When he reached the spot, he tied up his horse to a low hanging branch, and walked to the outer edge of the grove. The Duncan place was plainly visible, the barn showing big and dark against the starlit sky. Silsby decided to spend at least five or ten minutes in silent observation before heading for his destination. This was a habit he had developed during rustling forays. It wasn’t smart to blunder straight into a place where trouble could be waiting.

  After he was convinced no one moved around the area, he walked toward the farm. In a way he wished he was armed. If Sefton Duncan heard him and came charging out with a shotgun, it could mean getting killed or badly hurt. To make it worse, the man would be within his rights according to the law.

  Silsby approached within twenty yards of the place, and stopped and knelt down for another period of observation. A couple of minutes passed with no indication of anyone being out of the house. Satisfied all was clear, he took a breath, and went straight to the rear of the barn. It took a few minutes to find an entrance.

  The interior was so dark that he could see absolutely nothing. It would be impossible to find his way up to the loft. He felt his way along the wall until he found a place where he could settle down on a barrel.

  Time dragged ponderously in the dreary environment. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out vague shapes of unidentifiable objects. Odors of grease, hay, dung, and leather wafted to his nostrils. A snort and stomp erupted, and Silsby turned his straining eyes toward the sound. That would be Duncan’s plow horse, standing dumb and enduring in its dark stall. Silsby saw some humor in that. He and the animal were passing the evening in the same manner.

  Suddenly a flicker of light danced at the other end of the barn. It appeared to go on and off intermittently, until he realized he was looking at it through the cracks in the far wall. The illumination flared over in one corner and Silsby could see Mildred walk in through a small side door.

  “Silsby?”

  Her voice was like a merry melody to his ears. He stood up, whispering, “I’m over here.”

  She came up to him and stopped. “Why, Silsby! You’re dressed up so nice!”

  “I got sort of gussied up since I was coming to your house.”

  “You did that for me?”

  “Why sure, Mildred.” Silsby looked past her out into the farmyard. “Is ever’thing all right? I mean about your pa. Will he come out here? I don’t want you to get in no trouble.”

  “He’s asleep with his head on the kitchen table,” Mildred said. “He done in a whole bottle of whiskey.”

  “What about your ma?”

 
; “She’s poorly,” Mildred said. “She don’t get out of bed much lately. Me and Stella have to do just about ever’thing.”

  “Well, we know your sister’s at the dance.”

  “She won’t be back for a long spell,” Mildred said. “That’s why I wanted you to come over here as quick as you could.”

  “I couldn’t get up in the loft,” Silsby said. “It was dark and I didn’t know my way.” He followed her up a ladder to the upper reaches of the barn. They walked across to a far corner where some hay had been stacked up. A wooden crate with some dolls and toys in it was shoved next to the wall.

  “This here’s my special place,” Mildred said. She turned the lamp down to its lowest flame and set it on a box. “It’s right comfortable to sit in the hay.”

  The two settled down, side-by-side, not touching while a period of silence ensued between them. Silsby finally spoke: “I sure miss not dancing with you.”

  “Me too.”

  Silsby impetuously leaned toward her and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sweet on you.”

  “I’m sweet on you too,” she replied, turning her face to him. Silsby softly put his lips against hers. They stayed that way for a couple of moments, then embraced and kissed properly. When they parted, she asked, “Silsby, what are we gonna do? My pa ain’t never gonna let you call on me or nothing. Stella don’t like you neither.”

  “I guess we cain’t meet up here in the barn too often, can we?”

  “We ain’t got no choice,” Mildred said. “But if we’re real careful, we shouldn’t get caught.”

  “Then let’s be careful.”

  “I’ll get Mary to give you notes when I can,” she said. “You’ll have to meet her at the dances.”

  “That’s a good idee.”

  Now neither wished to speak, and they settled down in each other’s arms. The lantern, weak and flickering, softly illuminated the scene, making shadows dance across the barn ceiling.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A misstatement in an article featured in the Minneapolis Svenska Amerikanska Posten newspaper led to Ingvar and Anna Lindgren’s decision to come to the Oklahoma Territory to stake a claim.

  The Minnesota journalist who wrote the piece had translated it from a story in a three-month old copy of the Wichita Eagle. It told of the Run into the Cherokee Strip, emphasizing the realization of the homesteaders’ dreams for free farms in that area. The Wichita reporter left out many of the finer details since his readers were familiar with the circumstances surrounding the event. This led to the Swedish-American writer being unaware of a few of the more important points of the real situation, such as the very critical intelligence that the Run ended the same day it started. He also failed to mention that all the available claims had been staked out for ownership. In truth the only acreage available now was for sale.

  Ingvar Lindgren and Anna Erickson became acquainted during an unpleasant time in his life. He was laboring on the farm of his miserly Uncle Olaf to pay the old man back for his passage to America. Anna’s parents lived nearby on their own place, and she worked in Minneapolis as a housemaid for a wealthy family. The couple met during one of the young woman’s monthly visits to her parents’ farm. The two families regularly attended church together, and Ingvar and Anna were instantly attracted to each other on that memorable Sunday when they were introduced.

  Their mutual affection was of a romantic and sentimental nature, yet had a practical side to it as well. Ingvar was a strong capable young fellow who had proven his worth, and Anna was a sturdy Scandinavian maiden capable of hard physical work. Additionally, she had wide hips that guaranteed many easy births. Within a short time, Ingvar expressed his affection to Anna, and she revealed her own fondness for him. Since both families approved of the relationship, the couple’s engagement was announced less than a year later.

  When Ingvar’s debt to Uncle Olaf was settled, the two young people were married by old Reverend Stromberg in the local Swedish Lutheran Church. They moved to the Twin Cities where Anna became a housewife, and Ingvar found work as a janitor in a Saint Paul high school.

  Ingvar and Anna had been married a bit more than a year and a half when they read the article about the land rush. They were a frugal couple, saving all the money they could from Ingvar’s meager salary. The available free land in the Oklahoma Territory seemed the proverbial golden opportunity for them since they would never have enough money to purchase any property of their own. The young couple wasted no time in preparing for the journey to a place where they thought they could get a farm just for the asking. Their finances were such that after paying for the train tickets, they would have just enough money left over to purchase a few incidentals; such as seed, a mule, and a plow. The couple figured this would be affordable since the land they sought would cost nothing.

  After arriving in Medicine Bundle they went straight to the land office only to find no property existed for settlement. If they wanted their own farm, they would have to purchase it just as they would in Minnesota. Ingvar and Anna were stunned at the reality of the situation, and didn’t want to return to Saint Paul to begin all over again.

  Instead of staking a claim, Ingvar ended up being a hired man once more. Most of the money they planned to use to begin farming was spent on the costs of establishing themselves in the new town, and the rest went into a small savings account. Another disappointment they endured was remaining childless. They consoled themselves by considering it just as well since their earnings wouldn’t accommodate a large family at that time anyway.

  Ingvar and Anna lived in a cheap tiny house near the railroad depot that was but a step above a shack. Ingvar eked out a living between working on farms and occasional odd jobs in town but Anna was unable to find a position as a maid. The Swedish couple’s hard luck came to an end when they met the McCrackens and Hollings. Ingvar found employment between the two farms and Anna began working in both houses helping out Fionna and Rebecca. After Rebecca gave birth to a daughter who was christened Morag, Anna worked in the Grant home almost exclusively, taking care of the baby and Sammy while continuing with her housekeeping chores.

  The Swedish couple eventually discovered that the whole world did not freeze over from October to May as in Scandinavia or the upper Midwest. The Territory’s spring started in early March and it did not get very cold until December. Even when it snowed, the ground did not stay covered long after the temperatures eased back up above freezing.

  ~*~

  The Thanksgiving Holiday had been made official by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863, but the McCrackens had never celebrated it. But after their good luck in the Run and with the farms, Luther and Fionna decided it was time they began including the feast and prayers in their family life. They were indeed thankful to their God for the way their lives had improved.

  On November 27, 1890, the McCrackens asked Ingvar and Anna to join Grant and Rebecca in their home to celebrate the holiday. The dinner was traditional with a small addition by Anna who baked some special Swedish cookies to add to the desert. Neither the McCrackens nor the Hollings realized the sacrifice the Swedes had made in the purchase of sugar, flour, and butter for their contribution.

  Rebecca brought her kitchen table and chairs to be added to those of Fionna’s so there would be enough room for everyone to sit. The two tables were put together in the McCracken parlor for the meal. Sammy was placed in a high chair for his share of the eats. Morag, still nursing at Rebecca’s breast, slept the afternoon away in a crib upstairs.

  The celebration was pleasant with good food and conversation as everyone stuffed themselves in the tradition of the annual feast. When all the turkey, the home-canned vegetables, and the last speck of pumpkin pie were consumed, the women launched into the clean-up tasks.

  The men contributed to the chore by staying out of the way. They settled on the sofa and chairs arranged around the walls of the parlor. Luther, comfortably established in his favorite chair, lit his pipe. He glanced over at Ingva
r sitting on the sofa beside Grant. “Well,” Luther said, exhaling smoke, “how goes it Ingvar?”

  “Oh, ve’re getting along,” Ingvar replied. “Ve even save some money now and den. Someday me and Anna is gonna have our own farm. It vill take time, but ve do it, ja.”

  Grant spoke in a serious tone. “Luther and I have a business proposition for you, Ingvar. It will give you a chance to learn a bit more about farming here in the Oklahoma Territory while you’re waiting to get your own place.”

  Ingvar, about to light his pipe, sat with the yet unstruck match in his hand. He sensed something special was about to happen. “Ja?”

  “That’s right,” Luther said. “You’re a good man, Ingvar. We need someone we can depend on.”

  “I’m looking for a good yob,” Ingvar said hopefully. “I vould like much to hear vot you are gonna say to me.”

  Grant asked, “How would you and Anna like to move onto my farm and live in the house?”

  Ingvar wasn’t sure that was a good idea. He tried to be diplomatic as he carefully replied, “Maybe it vill be crowded vit’ all the people and your two children. Den me and Anna might have a baby too. Prob’ly lots of babies.”

  “No, no,” Grant said, shaking his head. “Rebecca and I are moving out. You and Anna will live there by yourselves.”

  “You move out?” Ingvar asked. “Vhere do you go, Mr. Hollings?”

  “We’re moving into town,” Grant said. “We want you to run the farm just like it was your own. We’ll take seventy-five percent of the profits. You keep twenty-five percent and you also have a free place to live. Of course we’ll take care of all expenses.”

  “You’ll be living perty cheap,” Luther added. “That means you can save a good deal of money a lot quicker’n you could now.”

  “That’s a step closer to having your own farm,” Grant added.

  Ingvar forgot about smoking his pipe. He stuck it in his pocket. “I like dat, Mr. Hollings. Vill I vork da farm vit’ Mr. McCracken like you do?”