Sixteen Brides

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  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?”

  “But Ella’s plan only allows for four,” Ruth said.

  “I told Ella I’d rather we all stay together than to have my own land,” Mama said.

  Hettie spoke up. “I…I don’t want my own land.” She dropped her voice. “I…I didn’t really plan this trip. It was sort of…well…sort of a fast decision.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I imagine you’ve all figured that out by now. I didn’t even have my own trunk when we unloaded.” She cleared her throat. “I know I said the railroad lost it.” She looked down at her lap. “I lied. I’m sorry.” She nodded at Ella’s model on the table. “I’d work hard just for room and board. If you’d have me.”

  “I have to have land in my name,” Ruth said. “Maybe I could get something nearby, but—”

  Caroline smiled. “Well, I think it’s obvious to all of us that you’re one of the four.” She grinned. “After all, we aren’t about to give up Jackson.”

  “Does that mean you want to do this?”

  “Now, don’t ya’ll sound so surprised,” Caroline said. “Just because I didn’t run about Jeb Cooper’s place shoutin’ glory hallelujah doesn’t mean I want to spend my life sellin’ geegaws to the ladies who come into Martha’s mercantile.” She chuckled. “Even though I am very good at it.” She gestured toward the model. “It’s brilliant, Ella.” She glanced around the table. “But we need sleepin’ quarters for seven.”

  “What about a loft over the two bedrooms?” Hettie suggested. “One side for Jackson, one for me”—she glanced around—“if th-that’s all right with everyone.”

  “All right, then,” Ella said, and pointed to the parts of the model. “Sally here, Caroline across from her. Ruth here with Jackson in the loft above, and—” She glanced Ruth’s way. “Do you think you can put up with me?”

  “What about Zita?”

  “Zita,” Mama said quickly, “wants a dressing screen around her cot in the corner of the kitchen near the stove, where her old bones can stay warm. And a rocking chair. And indoor plumbing. And plastered walls like Mr. Cooper had. And a window right by her cot so she can smell blooming flowers every morning when she wakes up.” She clasped her hands together and made a show of inhaling deeply.

  “Is there anything else you’d like, Mama?” Ella laughed.

  Mama twitched both eyebrows. “I want to be young for just one dance with that handsome rancher. Or an evening.” She grinned wickedly. “Or perhaps even a very long evening.”

  “Mama!” Ella scolded.

  “You don’t want to know, don’t ask.” With a flick of her wrist toward Ella, Mama brought the subject back to the house by pointing at the model. “So. Tell us how we build it.”

  “First a breaking plow slices the sod and lays it over.” Ella gestured as she spoke.

  “And where do we get such a plow? And who uses it?”

  “Martha suggested we ask Mr. Cooper. She said the plow that was used to build that house is probably still in the barn. She seemed to think he might be offended if we didn’t ask his help.” Ella frowned. “But after he spoke of all he has to do—”

  “We could offer to clean up the house for him,” Sally said. “Then he wouldn’t have so much to do.”

  “I’d be happy to help with that,” Caroline said. “I’m not gonna be much use with the buildin’ until this ankle heals.”

  “I’ll do whatever needs doing,” Ruth said from her place at the stove. “But please, Ella. Explain the process. Just how, exactly, does one build a sod house?”

  Ella described how the cutting plow laid over strips of sod. “Those we cut into three-foot lengths and then we lay up the walls like so many bricks. We fill the seams between the sod strips with more dirt. The windows and doorways are set in place and the walls rise around them. We hammer pegs through the door and window frames into the sod to keep them in place.”

  “And stuff rags around them,” Caroline muttered.

  “No,” Ella said firmly. “No rags. With no offense to anyone, I thought that looked…shabby. We will seal things tight and keep them in good repair. And we will plaster our walls. At least the inside ones. But that comes later—after the roof. Once the walls are up, a ridgepole is laid at the top and then the roof is added. And we’ll want shingles if we can find someone to make them.” She sat back. “I can plow and haul sod bricks and do almost everything else, but I don’t know how to make shingles and I don’t know how to put on a roof.”

  “H-how long will it all take?” Hettie asked.

  “Will said that if we file on the land right away, we could be moved in by the end of the month.”

  “That soon?” Several said it at once. Laughter rippled around the table and then everyone began talking at once.

  “We’ll want to make a list of everything each of us brought with us,” Ruth said.

  “Teapots,” Caroline said. “We have enough teapots to host a county-wide tea party.”

  “What about a lean-to on the back of the main room?” Ruth said. “To keep our firewood out of the weather. And I’ve two pair of lace curtains. Did anyone else bring curtains?”

  “What we gonna cook on?” Sally asked. She nodded at Mama. “Zita said she makes good soup. Looks like she’ll be makin’ a lot of it.”

  “We need a big stove,” Ruth said. “And a good-sized table.”

  “We should go over to Haywoods’ as soon as they open and order a stove,” Mama said.

  “How m-much is that going to cost?” Hettie frowned.

  “I can buy the stove,” Ruth said, “if it isn’t too expensive.”

  “We need to keep an account book,” Caroline said, “but I’ve got no idea how to make that work.”

  “You’uns figure out how to make it work,” Sally said, and stood up. “I told Mavis and Helen I’d help serve breakfast over at the dining hall.”

  “But…don’t you have more questions?” Ella asked.

  “Probably. But none I gotta ask right now.” Sally pointed around the table. “We’ve got sewing, cooking, knitting, doctoring, livestock, plowing, and”—she put her hand over her heart—“a first-rate henhouse tender. The way I see it, we got everything we need for our human henhouse, too. And a boy thrown in for good measure.” Sally headed for the door. “Just tell me when to climb on the wagon.” And with that, she took her leave.

  “A wagon,” everyone said at once.

  “Yes,” Ella nodded. “We do need a wagon. And a team.”

  Caroline spoke up. “I’ve got a hundred dollars,” she said. “That’s all my money. But I’ll put it in.” She glanced Jackson’s way. “Jackson and I were going to make a little visit to the livery later today. I’ll see what can be done about a wagon and a team—if that’s all right with y’all?” She looked pointedly at Ella. “I…I know about horses. I was my daddy’s stableboy.”

  “If the railroad will refund the part of my ticket I didn’t use,” Hettie said, “maybe I can put in something. I’ve only got two dollars to my name right now.”

  “You’ll be tending folks and bringing in who knows what once word gets out that we’ve got the next best thing to a doctor on our place,” Ella said. Then she looked around the table and asked, “It is
settled, then? We are agreed?”

  When everyone nodded, Mama said, “May the Lord bless it.”

  “M-maybe we should ask him, too,” Hettie said.

  And so they did.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.

  ROMANS 7:18

  Mrs. Jamison!” Linney sang out from her place behind the mercantile counter. “You’re staying! Will said you’re all staying. We’re so glad!” She glanced down at the yard goods stretched on the counter. “And I’m glad you agreed to help at the store for a while. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with things, what with new people coming in every day and Martha so busy at the dining hall and the Immigrant House. It’s too much for her. Will says it’s too much and he’s right.” She frowned. “Oh, blast,” she said. “Now I can’t remember if this is a yard or a yard and two-thirds.” With a sigh, she pulled out a yardstick.

  “If you’ll hand me a sheet of paper, I’ll cut it into small squares and pin notes on each piece so you know what you’ve cut.”

  “That’d be fine,” Linney said. She remeasured the fabric. “A yard and one-third.” She motioned to the bolts of calico sitting at the far end of the counter. “Those are all just end pieces. Martha wants it all measured and rolled up and put in one of the new washtubs by the front door. She’s hoping for a big crowd for the wedding.”

  “Wedding?”

  “I thought you would have heard. James McDonald proposed to Mrs. Smith while you ladies were gone with Will looking at homesteads. And she said yes.”